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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28722171">Married at First Sight: the Queer Season</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hewt/pseuds/Hewt'>Hewt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Arranged Marriage, Community: theoldguardkinkmeme, Falling In Love, M/M, Minor Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Minor Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Booker | Sebastien le Livre's Wife, Prompt Fill, Strangers to Lovers, but with a twist, married at first sight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:20:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28722171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hewt/pseuds/Hewt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The premise of Married at First Sight is simple: get matched to a complete stranger by a group of relationship experts and meet your future spouse on your wedding day. So far, this 'scientific' experiment has only been limited to the straights, but for the upcoming season of Married at First Sight UK, things are going to be different: it will be a queer-only season.</p><p>Joe applies because of a bet, Nicky applies because his friends bully him into it. Both of them are sure they won't be going any further than the application process, except... they do. But that's fine. They'll just meet at the ceremony, get married, try not to murder each other for the mandatory six weeks, and then they will get divorced and go their own, very separate ways.</p><p>Or will they?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>395</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Episode 1: Matchmaking Special</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written as a fill for <a href="https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/7393.html?thread=2672353#cmt2672353">this</a> prompt at the kinkmeme! :]</p><p>I just transcribed the explanations given by the experts in the first episode of the third season of MaFS USA to use as paragraphs here, so, disclaimer! Not my shit! :P</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">“‘<em>Married at first sight’ started with an idea. We wanted to see if our modern knowledge of the social sciences could help single people who long for connection find the love they are so desperately seeking.”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">He shoves the iPad out of his face a second time, just trying to mind his own business and stir the tomato sauce, when, yes, it returns for a whopping third.</p><p class="western">“Quỳnh-” he starts, his wooden spoon raised in warning. Not that he would ever hit her with it; knowing Quỳnh, she could bend him over backwards and break his spine within half a second, and Nicky does quite like his spine intact, thank you very much. Still, he glowers and taps the underside of the iPad with his spoon, leaving tomato on the case.</p><p class="western">“I’ll stop bothering you,” Quynh promises, which, ha, unlikely, “if you look at this.”</p><p class="western">“Fine.”</p><p class="western">He plops the spoon back into the pot and grabs a paper towel, cleaning up the sauce from the tablet as he takes it from her.</p><p class="western">The concept of the program is absolute shit.</p><p class="western">“What exactly am I looking at?”</p><p class="western">“Just read it.”</p><p class="western">“I did.”</p><p class="western">“And?”</p><p class="western">“It’s a stupid idea.”</p><p class="western">“So, it wouldn’t be something you would, you know, be interested in?” There’s actual hope in her voice, and Nicky frowns at her, and then back at the tablet, because truly she can’t be serious?</p><p class="western">“I am so not going to do that,” Nicky says, and then for good measure, he adds, “ever.” When he turns to glare at Quỳnh to make sure she understands he is deadly serious about this (he’s not going to do it) the evil gleam he finds within her gaze causes his stomach to drop. “Quỳnh.<span>”</span></p><p class="western">“I think it would be good for you,” Quỳnh says sweetly. “You always say you’re too busy with work to date, and well, this way you wouldn’t have to date.”</p><p class="western">“Because I would be <em>married</em>, to a <em>stranger</em>.”</p><p class="western">“You’re also not the best at first impressions, I think it’s really just killing two birds with one stone.”</p><p class="western">Nicky groans. “Quỳnh.”</p><p class="western">“Andy agrees with me. We think this could be good for you.”</p><p class="western">“I’m not going to do it,” he tells the stove.</p><p class="western">It’s a lost battle, of course. Later that night, Nicky finds himself sandwiched between Quỳnh and Andy while they go through the very elaborate questionnaire. Fortunately, Andy brought wine; it’s the only thing keeping him sane.</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em>We start these relationships with the highest form of commitment we can: and that’s marriage.”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“I bet a thousand quid that he wouldn’t even get through the application process,” Booker says.</p><p class="western">“I think he would, he’s very charming.”</p><p class="western">“Sure,” Booker disagrees, and Joe can feel both of their gazes burn into him after those words, which makes it considerably harder to ignore them.</p><p class="western">So he sighs, crosses his arms over his chest, and finally tears his gaze away from the television where a particularly mind-numbing collection of commercials had been trying to melt his brain.</p><p class="western">“You know, when you invited me over for football I wasn’t expecting to be <em>bullied</em> the entire time. <em>Bullied.</em>”</p><p class="western">“Hey look, sounds like he’s been hearing us after all,” Booker grins, stretching his leg from where he’s sitting in the armchair and kicking against Joe’s calf. “I think you’d be a great surprise bride, Joe. Who could say no to those glittering eyes?”</p><p class="western">“I hate you.”</p><p class="western">Booker shrugs. “Gotta get my entertainment somewhere, the match is horseshit.”</p><p class="western">“It’s not, just because PSG isn’t winning doesn’t mean it’s shit, you just have terrible taste in football teams.”</p><p class="western">“You don’t even have <em>a</em> taste in football teams, you just support whatever I’m not supporting, that’s basically cheating, you ass.”</p><p class="western">“Oh really? That’s cheating, are you sure, because I can show you wha-”</p><p class="western">“Boys, please, behave yourself. For once,” Sophie cuts him off with a laugh, wiggling her toes. She’d crammed them underneath Joe’s thigh thirty minutes ago, claiming that they were freezing, and considering that that had been <em>before</em> the bullying, Joe had let her.</p><p class="western">“You’re not off the hook,” Joe tells her, sending her a foul look.</p><p class="western">“I just think you’re cute when you’re in love,” Sophie defends herself. “You get all sparkly-eyed and romantic, it’s very endearing. Now, I’m not saying that weird ass television programs are the way to go about it, but if anyone could pull it off, it would be you. And it would be free publicity for your art…”</p><p class="western">“And I’m sure my students would just love to see me flounder about on reality television, I would never live it down,” Joe argues.</p><p class="western">“Well, if you get enough publicity you could always quit. Live your life like some kind of hotshot artist. Or maybe you’ll marry rich?” Sophie says.</p><p class="western">“Hypotheticals,” Booker butts in, throwing a crisp at Joe from his armchair, and it really is a good thing PSG is losing, because at this point Joe has no clue why the fuck he’d be hanging around here otherwise. They are bullies, the both of them. “He’d never get through the application process.”</p><p class="western">“I totally would,” Joe shoots back. “Although I don’t think many women will be particularly swooned by my requirement for them to, you know, not be a woman.”</p><p class="western">“It’s a queer season,” Sophie supplies, biting her lip. Booker shouts a triumphant ‘Ha!’ from next to Joe.</p><p class="western">“Since when are dating shows so progressive?” Joe grouses. It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no either.</p><p class="western">“So, a thousand quid?” Booker offers.</p><p class="western">“I thought we were friends,” he sniffs. “Of course I’ll get through the application process.”</p><p class="western">Booker holds out his hand and Joe shakes it.</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<span><em>There’s no walking away, there’s no easy escape. These couples have to work through every obstacle they face.”</em></span></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">It’s a nightmare. It’s an absolute nightmare.</p><p class="western">Nicky hates every second of it, from the moment he gets the call that he’s one of the persons to get picked for the show, to the celebratory breakfast-meets-dinner Andy and Quynh throw him as a surprise when he gets home from a night shift, to the fact that he had to go up to his boss and let her know that he <em>was getting married </em>(she looked so terribly confused; Nicky has never felt so embarrassed in his life), to the sudden influx of cameras and television people and therapists and ‘scientists’.</p><p class="western">It’s been very humiliating, and he is definitely blaming Quynh and, by proxy, Andy.</p><p class="western">It really would make his life a whole lot easier if they just, you know, kindly minded their own business.</p><p class="western">“<span>Science has chosen your partner for you, Nicky, how bad can it be?</span>” Andy says with a shrug, halfway through a bottle of vodka at 8am. Because apparently breakfast-meets-dinner allows for pre-noon celebratory drinks.</p><p class="western">“It’s not science!”</p><p class="western">“Okay, not-science has chosen your partner for you. How bad can it be?” Andy rephrases.</p><p class="western">Nicky just groans, hiding his face in his hands and wishing that he could have just gone straight to bed after work like he’d planned. He never should have told them about the call he’d gotten yesterday, should have allowed himself a day of respite where he could unashamedly burrow underneath his covers and forget about the world for a little bit.</p><p class="western">He’s going to be married. In fourteen days.</p><p class="western">The food that Andy had enthusiastically piled onto his plate looks even less appetising as that realisation hits, sitting like a heavy block in his stomach.</p><p class="western">“It will be fine,” Quỳnh assures him, squeezing his hand. She doesn’t look too terribly sorry about the fucking mess she has brought upon Nicky.</p><p class="western">“Yeah, you’ll only be stuck with him 24/7 for what, six weeks? What’s the worst that can happen?” Andy adds.</p><p class="western">Nicky decides, right then and there, that he definitely needs new friends. But the thing is, Nicky isn’t that great at making new friends, with him not having that much free time and also with him being, well, himself, and he is rather fond of Quỳnh and Andy when they don’t try to fuck over his carefully-orchestrated life.</p><p class="western">So, he settles for the next best thing: he revokes Andy’s baklava privileges.</p><p class="western">He feels slightly better about life when he kicks them out of his flat fifteen minutes later, Andy looking a little too pale and Quỳnh a little too smug.</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em>More than 20.000 hopeful singles from across the country have decided that they want to be married at first sight.”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">Joe gets through the application process.</p><p class="western">Booker’s expression is particularly sour when Joe triumphantly shares the news, but the wad of cash that he hands over to Joe when they meet to watch a football match in the nearby pub doesn’t feel quite as worth it anymore when Booker reminds him that he should probably notify his family.</p><p class="western">Joe freezes on his stool and stares into his drink as the realisation sinks in that he is, indeed, going to have to tell his family about this. The only thing they will be madder about than him getting married to a complete stranger within 15 days will be him not telling them he will be married to a complete stranger within 15 days.</p><p class="western">Booker looks very pleased with himself for the remainder of the night, and not just because PSG is actually winning. He makes sure to tell every person who approaches the bar to order that Joe will be getting married, and there’s hugs and congratulations and exclamations of surprise, because Joe had been a regular for a while now, and <em>who is the lucky gal?</em></p><p class="western">It won’t be a gal, that much Joe can be sure about, but other than that? He has no fucking clue. So he just smiles and sits and takes it, wondering if that thousand quid was truly worth the pain he will be going through for the next few months.</p><p class="western">“I hate you,” he tells Booker, because it needs to be said.</p><p class="western">Booker slaps him on the shoulder and grins. “Can’t believe you’re getting married before I am, tiger.”</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em>There are no guarantees that this is going to work. This isn’t a fairytale and the stakes couldn’t be any higher. These are people with flaws, they are real human beings and they are going to make mistakes.”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">Joe postpones having to talk with his family until the next day.</p><p class="western">It’s because of the time difference, he tells himself (his family are one hour ahead; it truly is a significant difference), just so he doesn’t have to admit that he’s fucking terrified of the backlash.</p><p class="western">He’s nervous and not in the mood for his usual elaborate classes, where he walks his students through art history with little stories and way too much zooming in on the dramatic facial expressions found in Romantic paintings, or where he supports them as they try to go on their own artistic journeys. So he lets them study or do things for themselves, as long as they behave themselves, while he pretends to be grading some tests.</p><p class="western">He’s so out of it that some of his students come up to him to ask if everything is okay, which causes him to change his tactic for his last class of the day as he takes the entire class out to the ice cream parlour a couple blocks over and buys them all gelato, which is, ironically, less out of character for him than sitting quietly behind his desk is.</p><p class="western">When he gets home late in the afternoon, though, he has to face the inevitable.</p><p class="western">So he does the logical thing: he calls his youngest sister.</p><p class="western">Yasmin remains awfully quiet when Joe <span>shares </span>the news.</p><p class="western">“Yasmin?” he calls into the silence, pulling back his phone from his ear for just a second to check whether the call is actually still happening. It is; he watches the seconds tick away on his phone screen, judgementally and resolutely.</p><p class="western">“You are so on your own for this,” Yasmin finally says, her voice strained.</p><p class="western">“Wait, no- Yas, please, please talk to mama for me.”</p><p class="western">“I am not, no, are you out of your mind?” She lapses into a particularly creative string of curses in French, Arabic and Dutch, an exotic concoction of hard consonants that brings Joe right back to his adolescence, when he and Yasmin used to fight every other day or so and drive their parents completely mad. “I want nothing to do with this.”</p><p class="western">She hangs up.</p><p class="western">So, Joe does the next best thing: he calls his middle sister.</p><p class="western">“Why is Yasmin blowing up my phone?” Amira asks, sounding more curious than apprehensive. “What did you do?”</p><p class="western">“I’m getting married,” Joe mumbles.</p><p class="western">“What? To whom?”</p><p class="western">Joe explains the show, and Booker, and how much of an idiot he is. “Can you please talk to mama for me?”</p><p class="western">“No,” Amira says. “Maybe Noor will help you.”</p><p class="western">Joe doesn’t think Noor, his eldest sister, will help him, but he calls her anyway.</p><p class="western">Of course, she spends roughly ten minutes laughing her ass off, and Joe puts the phone on speaker so he doesn’t have to listen to her snort and wheeze directly into his ear. She tries about twenty times to compose herself, but is overtaken by a fit of giggles every single time.</p><p class="western">“I can’t believe it,” she eventually manages to croak out between outbursts of hysterical laughter. “Mama is going to be so disappointed. With you! It has finally happened!”</p><p class="western">“Mama has been plenty disappointed in me,” Joe retorts.</p><p class="western">“No, no, she hasn’t. Not you, Yusuf, never you. You perfect little problem child. This is going to be glorious. Can you please record this call? I would love to hear mama give you a piece of her mind, this is so overdue. You are an idiot, little brother.”</p><p class="western">Which is how Joe finds himself completely alone when he finally gathers the courage to call his mother.</p><p class="western">She gives him an earful, and then sweetly asks when the date is, and if it will be a problem if she invites the entire family (it will be, the guest limit has been put at a meagre 20, although apparently his <em>spouse</em>’s family is small so he may bring up to 35 people; nowhere near enough), and if there is any dietary restrictions they will need to keep in mind when preparing the food (they’re not allowed to bring their own food to the wedding, Joe doesn’t tell her (yet)), or does he not know that about his intended husband either (Joe doesn’t know that, no)?</p><p class="western">It’s a nightmare.</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">[A close-up shot of Nicky talking directly to the camera. Nicky is wearing a green short-sleeved t-shirt, his hair is styled. He looks slightly too pale under the lighting. He smiles nervously as the director asks, off screen: <em>“What are you looking for in a partner?”</em>]</p><p class="western">“I am looking for a husband who will accept me for who I am, and who will support me unconditionally. I also, uh, I think I would like it if he has a nice smile.”</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">[A close-up shot of Joe talking directly to the camera. His beard and hair have been groomed to perfection. He is wearing a dark red button-up, and his smile is charming. Some of the camera crew are swooning as they adjust the lighting to make him look even more radiant. His smile turns impossibly brighter when the director asks, off screen: <em>“What kind of man are you hoping to marry?”</em>]</p><p class="western">“Someone whose kindness knows no limits, someone who will be able to get me through my darkest times and hold me when I am scared; someone who will hold my heart with gentle hands and light a fire within my chest to keep me warm through the coldest days.”</p><p class="western">“That’s quite the requirements you’ve got there,” the director says, while the entire staff swoons.</p><p class="western">“Oh? I am only looking for the centre of my universe, certainly that is not too much to ask for?”</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em>When an individual chooses to get married at first sight, it means that that individual is being brave and truly committed to finding love.”</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Episode 2: Wedding Preparations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After they get the announcement that they have been chosen to get married, they have fifteen days to prepare for the wedding.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm very much blown away by the huge amount of comments the previous chapter has gotten. I'm really glad that y'all want to go on this journey with me &lt;3</p><p>I will be following the setup of a season of the US version of the show, so if you've watched that before, you'll kinda know what to expect! :] Also, I'm really excited about the honeymoon chapters, I have most of it written already and it's going to be glorious &lt;3 But first, wedding prep! :D</p><p>Thanks to Sam from the Discord server for reading the first part of this chapter to make sure the formatting is okay! :]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">“<em>Our second couple is Joe and Nicky.”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">[A close-up shot of Joe talking directly to the camera. His hair and beard are expertly styled, shining under the dim lighting. The backdrop is a room, the walls are painted a muted beige and there’s a fern on a table behind Joe’s right shoulder. He is wearing a blue shirt and the fabric strains as it spans over his muscular shoulders. He is smiling, and he seems radiant.]</p><p class="western">“My name is Joe Al-Kaysani, I’m 33 years old and I live in London. I’m an art teacher.”</p><p class="western">[A shot of Joe on a balcony, his back turned to the camera. The skies are tinted pink and orange as the sun sets over the skyline of London, which Joe quietly admires as he looks out over the city.]</p><p class="western">“I would say I’m a romantic. Others would say that that is an understatement, but as I am the one introducing myself… who cares, right?”</p><p class="western">[A close-up shot of Joe laughing, his eyes sparkling. The warm light from the sunset makes him look ethereal.]</p><p class="western">“My parents are still very happily married, even after more than forty years. My family is very loving, and they have always supported me no matter what decisions I’ve made. This is a quality I hope to pay forward, with my friends, with my students, and also in my relationships.”</p><p class="western">[A close-up shot of Joe talking directly to the camera in the muted, beige interior of the interview room. His eyes have gained a dreamy quality, and the cameraman’s breath hitches momentarily as he finds himself as the indirect receiver of that smouldering gaze.]</p><p class="western">“I like grand romantic gestures from time to time, but I think that in the end love is in the smaller things in life. It is about choosing, day after day, time and time again, to spend your life alongside that other person, and for every day with them to feel as much as a blessing as the last.”</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">[A close-up shot of Nicky talking directly to the camera. He is seated in the same muted, beige interior of the interview room, with the same fern on a table behind his right shoulder. His hair is styled as much as possible, and his eyes look impossibly colourful. There is a tiny smile playing around his lips. (It had taken many tries to get Nicky to smile like that, the director really needs some applause, some coffee and perhaps a pastry or fifteen for her troubles; especially because it was <em>the intern</em> who had finally managed to get Nicky relaxed enough to show emotion.)]</p><p class="western">“I’m Nicky di Genova, I’m 30 years old and I live in London. I’m an A&amp;E consultant.”</p><p class="western">[A shot of Nicky leaning against <span>the counter of his kitchen</span>, a steaming mug in his hand and a three-legged cat weaving around his legs. The lighting is soft. The setting is peaceful.]</p><p class="western">“I deal with death and pain every day when I am at work, it puts things into perspective. It shows that time is not infinite, even though we might feel it is, and it also shows how lonely one can be, even when surrounded by so many others.”</p><p class="western">[A close-up shot of Nicky reading a novel, a soft smile on his lips. Are his eyes green? Grey? It is impossible to tell.]</p><p class="western">“My parents did not have a good relationship. When I was thirteen, I started living with my nonna. She taught me that love is in food and food is in love; and while I am not entirely sure that is the only place one can find it, I suppose it’s a good place to start.”</p><p class="western">[A close-up shot of Nicky talking to the camera, in the same dull interview room. There’s a genuine smile on his face now as he chuckles fondly at the memory, and it lights up his entire face. He looks handsome. The cameraman swoons.]</p><p class="western">“I have a lot of love to give, and I think it is time I find someone to give it to.”</p><p class="western">[A compilation follows. Dr Maranda tells Nicky in his garden that they have found him a match. Dr Byrne tells Joe on his balcony that they have found him a husband. Both of them pretend to be excited. Nicky has to redo his reaction multiple times; apparently he looks slightly too constipated for the level of elation they are going for. Joe nails it: he even manages to squeeze out some tears of what the director wrongly assumes to be happiness.]</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“We have matched Joe and Nicky together because we feel like they compliment each other. They are both whole, entire persons, that are not looking for their other half but more for someone who will add to what already exists.”</p><p class="western">Dr Maranda, the show’s resident relationship expert for the last seven seasons, looks wisely into the camera. Her (bleached) blonde hair has been styled into a fierce bun, and she is clearly feeling it today as she strongly gesticulates, emphasising the science behind this experiment, and her own competence.</p><p class="western">“On the one hand, we have Joe, who is outspoken and passionate. He is very social and he likes to surround himself with people. Joe needs someone who will tell him that sometimes he needs to take a break so he can focus on the things he finds most important.”</p><p class="western">Dr Maranda nods sagely, completely convinced by her own reasoning.</p><p class="western">“Nicky, on the other hand, is a lot more passive. He doesn’t like to be the centre of attention, and he doesn’t like to go out much, but despite this he is still confident and competent. We feel like Joe and Nicky could balance each other on these fronts: Joe will allow Nicky to be more outgoing in social situations, and Nicky will allow Joe to relax more.”</p><p class="western">A plastic smile stretches across her face.</p><p class="western">“We feel like Joe and Nicky are very compatible, and we are very excited to see where this journey will lead them.”</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em>Four relationship experts have matched three couples who have never met but will be married in less than one week.”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">Nicky isn’t a natural in front of the camera.</p><p class="western">Of course, this comes as a surprise to exactly no one.</p><p class="western">He doesn’t even like getting his picture taken, much prefers being the one behind the camera than in front of it, and while he’s vaguely aware that he is actually handsome, he is more consciously aware that he is, as his brother Giovanni used to bitingly remark when they were growing up, very much a walking nose.</p><p class="western">So yes, he feels awkward in front of the camera, and he finds the continuous attention the crew has for him to be deeply unpleasant, and he tries not to squirm too much when the director announces that they have to do a quick grocery run to get some concealer to hide the bags under his eyes because he, apparently, looks like he hasn’t slept properly in two weeks.</p><p class="western">(He hasn’t. He has a very busy job with crazy hours and he doesn’t sleep that much, and he’s getting married to a complete stranger in five days and he just has a lot on his mind, okay.)</p><p class="western">So they get him the concealer and the intern, a sweet young woman named Nile, an American film student with an interest in European cinema, smiles apologetically when she applies it to the bruised skin underneath his eyes.</p><p class="western">“What are you doing in reality TV if you like European cinema?” Nicky asks her, curiously. He finds her to be one of the few people who is actually pleasant to work with, although he supposes the cameraman who blushes brightly every time their eyes meet is a close second.</p><p class="western">“What are you doing on a reality TV show if you don’t like being on camera?” Nile shoots back.</p><p class="western">Nicky grimaces. “Believe it or not, this actually wasn’t my idea.”</p><p class="western">“Yeah, I kinda got that. You look rather miserable.” Nile looks sympathetic. “Anyway, I was going to work on another project, but it got cancelled, and then there was just this. And I was like, you know what? I like romance, I like seeing people fall in love, I’m queer, let’s fucking represent.” Nicky winces when she almost pokes him in the eye with her pinky finger. “Ah shit, sorry. I’m not very good at this.”</p><p class="western">“It is okay,” Nicky assures her, trying to suppress his reflexive excessive blinking every time her fingers get close to his eye ball now, his trust in her truly and irreparably broken. “So do you expect to actually see people falling in love?”</p><p class="western">“I mean, who knows? Not sure if I believe in the entire science-y shit behind it, but stranger things have happened, right?”</p><p class="western">Nicky hums non-committally.</p><p class="western">The director calls out that they’re behind on schedule and should really start filming, and Nile mouths a silent ‘sorry’ as she takes in Nicky’s appearance now. “I tried,” she whispers, patting Nicky on the shoulder in a consoling manner.</p><p class="western">“I am sure it is fine.”</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em>We’re very excited about our choices, and I’m really hopeful that all of our couples will grow tremendously throughout this process. But now the hard part begins: they will have to do the work, and while a wedding is stressful under any circumstances, this process is extraordinary.”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<span>What does Sophie think?” Joe asks as he turns around in front of the mirror, checking himself out in the suit he’s just pu</span><span>t</span><span> on. It </span><span>looks good on him, but it’s not the best one he’s tried on so far for sure.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Booker groans from where he </span>
  <span>ha</span>
  <span>s sunk into one of the sofas in the store, his phone held loosely in front of him as he keeps the steady stream of communication between Joe and Sophie going. He had loudly complained about having to come along on the shopping spree, but Joe had been unrelenting. Of course, it would have made more sense to bring Sophie, or any of his other </span>
  <span>actually</span>
  <span> fashionable friends, but in the end it is Booker’s fault that Joe is in this predicament in the first place, so Joe takes great delight in forcing Booker to come along.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>If Joe was going to have to get his every move filmed for the next six weeks, Booker better be prepared to be dragged into this mess as often as Joe </span>
  <span>ca</span>
  <span>n </span>
  <span>get away with</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>It has been a wonderful experience to see Booker pretend to be cheerful and excited when the cameras are on him, and to see him completely deflate in despair when they turn </span>
  <span>back </span>
  <span>on Joe </span>
  <span>again</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>She says it makes your butt look like a 6 out of 10, which is apparently scandalous. </span><span>S</span><span>he demands another.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe gasps when he hears the verdict, moving quickly to change into the </span>
  <span>next suit that is lined up for him</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe knows he will be taking the second one he tried, but seeing Booker suffer is entirely too much fun to cut this short. Plus, the camera crew are eating up his little diva moments; apparently, Joe is a natural in front of the camera, who could have known?</span>
</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<span><em>Our couples don’t know each other’s names, age, height, eye colour, hair colour, the only thing they know is the size of their ring finger.”</em></span></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“What about that one?” Andy asks, tapping her fingertip against the display.</p><p class="western">Nicky hums, looks at the nondescript golden band and shakes his head. “No.”</p><p class="western">“What about that one?” Andy asks again, moving to the one right next to it and tapping her fingertip against the display twice, leaving a smudgy fingerprint on the otherwise immaculate glass.</p><p class="western">Nicky squints at the nondescript golden band, almost identical to the one beside it, and shakes his head. “No.”</p><p class="western">The jeweller comes up to them then, having remained in the background for about as long as he could physically restrain himself from interfering. He’d spoken to them when they had first entered, of course, worked them through the scripted conversation of him asking with faux interest what Nicky’s partner is like and Nicky then having to explain the premise of the show (a stupid fucking premise, and he had to grit his teeth when Andy helpfully supplied that it was all <em>for science</em>).</p><p class="western">Thankfully, he’d let them alone to browse as the camera crew filtered out of the tiny jeweller’s. They have been given fifteen minutes to pick out a ring <span>before they move on, and while Nicky hadn’t exactly intended to spend the entire fifteen minutes staring at the various display cases, he is truly very bad at these kinds of things. He doesn’t wear jewellery himself and he is not exactly known for his fashion sense. Making a decision like this is difficult, even though he knows it will only be for six weeks, tops. It’s not like the poor </span><span>man</span><span> that will end up having to marry Nicky will actually have to wear the ring for the rest of his life, so the choice really should be easy. It’s not like it matters, after all.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>And yet, Nicky hesitates. </span>
</p><p class="western">Taking Andy with him on this particular task is perhaps not the most productive either; Andy knows about as little about jewellery as Nicky does, but <span>he’d only been allowed to bring either Andy or Quỳnh to his appointments, and Quỳnh had called dibs on the clothing store. Apparently Andy looking breathtakingly handsome in a suit does not mean that she has a proper fashion sense, and there’s no way Quỳnh will be letting him get married in a suit that doesn’t emphasise his eyes </span><span><em>just so</em></span><span>, and, well- </span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky has given up arguing with these two a long time ago.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Do you know what you are looking for?” the man says, his voice slightly nasal and a little too high-pitched. He’s fingering a cloth, his eyes flickering nervously to the smudges Andy’s fingers have left on the glass.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>We’re going through this by process of elimination,” Andy tells him, glaring at the man from over the rim of her sunglasses and then putting her greasy finger onto the glass again as she points out the next ring that’s on display. The man sweats, </span><span>but he knows better than to pick a fight. Andy looks positively intimidating in her leather boots and biker jeans and flannel, like a terrifying bisexual hurricane.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky hums in thought. “Maybe silver?”</span>
</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<span><em>Bachelor and bachelorette parties typically relate to bonding with your friends. Bidding farewell to being single, and really looking forward to changes that will happen when you’re married and have a life as a couple</em></span><span><em>.”</em></span></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">
  <span>J</span>
  <span>oe’s intention was to keep the bachelor party small and quick. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Just long enough for the cameras to get their shots to fill up the segments of the show and then disperse, that seemed like a good enough tactic; it’s not like him getting married is actually something that should be celebrated, and he has tried to keep the amount of people who know about it to a minimum.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Of course, he should have known that it was going to be everything but small and quick.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He takes his brothers-in-law and father to the pub Booker and he frequent, and he is absolutely appalled when they walk in and there’s a lot of people there already, ranging from Joe’s colleagues to some of the other weekly patrons he’s befriended, and in the middle of it all sits Booker.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>What the fuck is this?” Joe hisses in Booker’s ear when he gets close enough, keeping a worried eye on his father who cannot be left alone in these kinds of situations with that twinkle of pure mischief in his eye, and Booker laughs as he roughly pats him on the back.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Couldn’t let my best friend get married in secret, now could I? You deserve a good party, man.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe grabs his upper arm and squeezes. “I hate you.”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>And I you,” Booker grins.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe’s father strikes up a conversation with James Copley, the director of the school and, consequently, Joe’s </span>
  <span>
    <em>boss</em>
  </span>
  <span>. They seem to recognise each other. Ibrahim grins brightly, in that way all Al-Kaysanis do when they’re up to no good, something that used to drive his mother to despair when they were all growing up. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe curses and goes to interfere.</span>
</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em><span>The significance of a bachelor or bachelorette party is a goodbye to singlehood. You and your friends are going to get drunk partying, and maybe act a bit brutally; that happens a lot in bachelor parties. But the big thing is, you’re saying goodbye to all that!”</span></em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky keeps the bachelor party small. He’s only having one because he has to have one; he’s never quite understood the appeal of them at all. But apparently inviting some of his friends to his house to eat good food </span>
  <span>and drink </span>
  <span>is acceptable enoug</span>
  <span>h, even</span>
  <span> if they have to ask him some ‘risky’ questions in order to get the content the director is going for.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Are you expecting to have sex on your wedding night?” Laila, Celeste’s wife, asks. They’re not even really Nicky’s friends, they’re Andy and Quỳnh's, but Nicky’s friends are pretty limited to Andy, Quỳnh, Signora Bianchi from a couple doors over, and some colleagues, and there’s no way he’s inviting any of his colleagues to this. Signora Bianchi he hasn’t even told he’s gay, and he doesn’t have the heart to break the 80-something-years-old woman’s heart when she will inevitably realise that her quest to find Nicky a nice Catholic girl is futile.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I don’t think that’s a very good start to a marriage, having sex with someone I don’t know,” Nicky replies, frowning around his pastry. </span></p><p class="western">“<span>Eh, I think it </span><span>usually works</span><span> out just fine, actually,” Celeste says, bumping her shoulder against Laila’s as they share dopey smiles. They had moved in together a weekend after they’d met, and gotten married a few months later.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Things work differently when you’re not wlw,” Quỳnh supplies, patting Nicky on the thigh. “It’s okay if you need a little longer.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Like, 24 hours, or something,” Andy </span><span>add</span><span>s, grinning at him around the baklava he’d baked for her. Her privileges are, of course, still revoked. (But it’s a special occasion, and Nicky loves her to bits, and he’s a weak when it comes to his two favourite people </span><span>in the world</span><span>.)</span></p><p class="western">“<span>But will you kiss him, at the altar?” Laila prods. </span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky laughs and shrugs. “Maybe. If he’s handsome.”</span>
</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em><span>Today our couples are getting married, they’re probably nervous. They are going to be asking themselves if they made the right decision and what this means. And I would imagine that there’s probably a lot of fear, and doubt, and cold feet right about now.”</span></em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">The wedding planner brings them their gifts along with her congratulations when they’re getting ready for the ceremony.</p><p class="western">Joe stares at the poetry book he has unwrapped.<em>100 Love Sonnets</em>, written by Pablo Neruda. When he opens the cover there’s old-fashioned cursive looping over the page.</p><p class="western">
  <em>To my beloved – may this be for ever and always.</em>
</p><p class="western">Meanwhile, Nicky unwraps a framed charcoal drawing of some lilies. It’s breathtakingly beautiful.</p><p class="western">
  <em>To my moon.</em>
</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em>The big day has arrived. Today, the couples will finally meet when they say ‘I do’.”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">Joe’s family is very, very, <em>very</em> unhappy with the proceedings of the wedding. Not only is it very white, there is also a menu that his family hadn’t been allowed to prepare, and there’s a tiered wedding cake that his aunt in particular has an opinion about, and oh, yes, there is also the thing that Joe could only invite 35 people, total, which is almost twice as much as usual since otherwise the program would have gone and hired extras to fill the empty seats on his spouse’s side, so they might as well use Joe’s ample family instead.</p><p class="western">His mother had made him call every single aunt, uncle and cousin, removed or otherwise, who wouldn’t be getting a direct invitation, to explain exactly why.</p><p class="western">He’s never going to live this down.</p><p class="western">“Oh, Yusuf, but you are such a handsome man,” one of his other aunts had moaned upon arrival. <em>It shouldn’t have had to come to this</em>, she doesn’t say, but Joe can feel it resonate in the disapproval-laden air between them.</p><p class="western">The only thing that gives him an even bigger headache than knowing that he will always be known as the uncle who got married on a <em>reality television show</em> is the fact that he will be blowing all this off in just six weeks when he is finally allowed to divorce the poor sod they’ve picked out for him.</p><p class="western">Somehow, he has the feeling that the response to that is going to be even worse, because not only will he be the uncle who <em>got married on a television show</em>, he will also be the uncle who <em>got divorced within six weeks on the very same television show</em>.</p><p class="western">It’s a good thing teenage-Joe can’t look into the future and see what has become of him; he might just be horrified beyond belief. Although, he might also, you know, put some kind of urgency behind getting his shit together and actually find a stable relationship before it can come to this.</p><p class="western">(Joe is going to kill Booker.)</p><p class="western">As it is, he is letting his father fuss with his suit, straightening the lapels even though they don’t need straightening, and he looks nervous.</p><p class="western">“I’m proud of you, son,” he says in <span>Arabic</span>, smoothing his hands over Joe’s chest and then tugging slightly at his bow-tie. “I know this isn’t going like we all hoped, but you are getting married. I never thought I would see the day!” The jest falls a little flat, with the tension hanging in the air. “Just promise me that you will give the man a chance, you never know, perhaps he will surprise you.”</p><p class="western">“Thanks, baba.”</p><p class="western">He pulls him into a hug, burying his face in the shoulder of his father’s suit as Ibrahim sniffles and pats him on his back. The cameras are eating it up, but Joe doesn’t even care.</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em>Even though these couples don’t ‘know’ each other until their wedding day, they know that four experts believe that they are compatible. These couples have to put their trust in this process and have to put their trust in the four of us.”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">Nicky feels nervous.</p><p class="western">Which is stupid; it’s not like this all actually matters.</p><p class="western">But as he sits and fusses with the wrapping paper he’d gently pried from the beautiful gift he’d received, he can’t quite ignore the nausea in his gut.</p><p class="western">Quỳnh gently bumps her shoulder into his. She looks gorgeous in her flowing dress and bright red lipstick, and strikes a stunning picture with Andy in her dark, expertly-tailored suit. Nicky looks good himself too, he knows it, has seen the evidence of it in the mirror, the way the light grey suit he’s wearing hugs every curve of him and brings out the best in his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, his butt, his thighs. His hair is slightly longer than he would normally wear it, his sideburns shorn off for the occasion, and Quỳnh had really tried her very best to make him look the best he could.</p><p class="western">He’s still going to fuck it up, though, he knows that. There’s no way the thoughtful man who’d drawn him lilies will be pleased to see Nicky standing there on the other side of the altar, there is no way there will be a happily ever after for them. This will just be a bump in both their lives, to be erased and smoothed over once the six weeks are over. Nicky won’t be this man’s moon, he will simply be a dreary footnote in an otherwise happy story, and-</p><p class="western">It’s okay that way.</p><p class="western">Nicky didn’t come here to find the love of his life.</p><p class="western">He’s fine on his own. He’s only here because Andy and Quỳnh made him do it.</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em>No matter how optimistic we are about our matches, or how well we think we know our couples, we can never be sure of how they will react when they first lay eyes on each other. Will they run, or will they say: ‘I do’?”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Episode 3: Weddings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joe and Nicky get married.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*pats this chapter on the head* Off you go, you bothersome fucker.</p><p>This chapter was awfully uncooperative, until it wasn't. So I wrote all this in one go :P </p><p>Thanks for all the love this fic is receiving &lt;3 It really means a lot to me! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">
  <span>[A close-up shot of Nicky talking to the camera. He’s dressed in his light grey wedding suit, the colour making his eyes look ethereal. To anyone who can read him, it’s obvious that he’s very nervous. To others, he appears to be stoic.]</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>I am very nervous, yes.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>[The director attempts to get more out of him, but he keeps glancing over his shoulder to where </span>
  <span>Quỳnh</span>
  <span> is waiting for him, and eventually the director admits defeat and lets him go.]</span>
</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<span>I’m not going,” Nicky says as he gazes out the windows and sees the ceremony. It’s an exact copy of what the venue had looked like on the PowerPoint presentation </span><span>with the very limited options </span><span>they’d hastily made him pick his ideal wedding from. He </span><span>i</span><span>sn’t even sure if this is what he had picked or if his husband-to-be’s choices had overruled him in this matter, but it </span><span>still </span><span>looks lovely.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Where the rows of white chairs had been empty on the presentation, though, the seats are now filled with people. People Nicky doesn’t know. People Nicky, most likely, will never even get to know. He stares at the backs of curly-haired heads, dark against the backdrop of the blossoming apple trees that line the circular </span>
  <span>clearing. The aisle leads to a flower gate, where a dark-skinned marriage officiant is waiting patiently, his smile broad and bright, even from a distance.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>What? Don’t make me walk the aisle without you, that’d be terribly awkward,” Quỳnh says, her arm wrapping around Nicky’s shoulders, pulling him down to her height. “Can you imagine? Expecting to find a handsome man at the end of that aisle and then finding me instead. I’d be </span><span><em>devastated</em></span><span>.” </span><span>Nicky doesn’t think there’s a reality where anyone would be devastated to see Quỳnh. She looks even more stunning now, with her hair done up in intricate braids and her lips painted a fiery red. Her dress is stunning, too, tight around the chest but flaring out from her waist.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Andy would get angry.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Probably. She might even challenge him to a duel to win my hand. How fucking romantic would that be? You know what, never mind, I’m walking that aisle alone.” Quỳnh pushes away from him with a shit-eating grin, and Nicky gives her a </span><span>gentle </span><span>shove to go along with it.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>You’re not making me feel better.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Oh no, you’re wrong. I am. Don’t think I can’t see that little smile,” Quỳnh taunts, reaching up to pinch his cheeks, and Nicky laughs as he swats her hands away.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>You’ll ruin my makeup.”</span></p><p class="western"><span>Quỳnh</span><span> pulls a face as her gaze flickers to the thick layer of concealer</span><span> Nile had applied to the dark bags under his eyes. Nile had said, jovially, when she was done, that at the very least she was getting better at it; </span><span>b</span><span>y the end of the six weeks, she’</span><span>ll</span> <span>likely</span><span> be a pro.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky had expressed his doubts about the usefulness of this particular skill, to which she’d laughed, saying that if nothing else, it would make an interesting footnote on her resume. “Turning tired-looking white guys into slightly-less-tired-looking even whiter guys. I can see how that could be a business.”</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>It’s also Nile who comes to tell them that it’s time for the ceremony to start, and as she pulls him into a hug and pats his back encouragingly, she looks very excited. </span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Good luck out there!” she tells him as </span><span>s</span><span>he opens the door </span><span>and waves them through.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky stays rooted to </span>
  <span>the</span>
  <span> spot until Quỳnh hooks her arm through his and nearly drags him out of the building and onto the courtyard. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He looks like he’s bitten into something particularly sour when they step through the doors, and while he tries to smooth his expression into something that could resemble excitement or nervousness and not just him being terribly apprehensive, it doesn’t work. The director calls them back to reshoot the scene before they’ve even managed to get in the vicinity of the chairs, and this causes several heads to turn.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Colour rises to his cheeks under their scrutinising gazes, and he doesn’t even protest as Quỳnh turns them around to go back into the building.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Hey, Nico,” she says as she squeezes his arm, causing him to tear away his eyes from the increasingly unhappy glares he’s receiving from his husband-to-be’s family, to look down at her instead. “Just pretend I said something really funny, okay?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>What?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Remember that one time when Andy tried to befriend the llamas at that petting zoo?”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky does, vividly. He </span>
  <span>smile</span>
  <span>s </span>
  <span>at the memory</span>
  <span>, shaking his head. “She should have kept her friendships limited to the equine.”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Just think of the look on her face when Cupcake spit at her,” Quỳnh instructs, and Nicky sighs. He stares out at the ceremony, the turned heads, the unhappy gazes. He looks at the camera crew, all of them waiting impatiently for him to walk again, and the director’s sour face, such a stark contrast to the thumbs-up </span><span>and bright smile</span><span> Nile gives him when he catches her eye.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Okay.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>They walk again, and this time the director doesn’t interrupt. Nicky keeps his gaze fixed forward, </span>
  <span>on the friendly face of the marriage officiant as they approach him, and when they reach the front row of the chairs, Quỳnh pulls him down into a hug and kisses him on the cheek. </span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Just breathe, yeah? He’ll love you.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>That, at the very least, makes Nicky laugh, a pained little thing, because there are very few certainties about today, but </span>
  <span>the </span>
  <span>husband </span>
  <span>he doesn’t even want </span>
  <span>not loving him at first sight is one that definitely tops that list. “Right.”</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Quỳnh winks at him and then moves to take her seat next to Andy, who gives him a big grin and a thumbs-up, her arm immediately wrapping around her wife. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky sighs and squares his shoulders, walking the last few metres to join the marriage officiant at the flower gate. He turns around to face the guests. </span>
</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">[A close-up shot of Joe talking to the camera. He is dressed in a perfectly-tailored suit, the fabric gleams softly under the lighting. His curls are oiled and styled to perfection, his beard is neatly trimmed. His eyes are sparkling and his smile is radiant.]</p><p class="western">“<span>I am nervous, yes. It is, after all, not every day that you bind yourself in marriage to someone you have never met before. And then to think I would not be in this situation at all if it weren’t for my good friend Booker… I truly am grateful.”</span></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">Joe gazes out of the window and the reality that he’s going to get married suddenly hits him like a sledge hammer as he sees the backs of his family as they sit on the chairs. He cringes as he imagines his mother’s face when he will eventually turn to face her. He can make out the marriage officiant at the end of the aisle, and next to him, a man.</p><p class="western">“<span>Fuck.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Cold feet?” a woman from the camera crew asks him with a sympathetic smile. Joe wonders if it’s even possible to get cold feet if you never had </span><span><em>warm</em></span><span> feet to begin with, but he sends her his most sheepish smile nonetheless.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>It’s pretty terrifying.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Yeah, you don’t say. I really don’t know how you do it, I’d probably be reconsidering all my life choices and crying in the bathroom, or something.” Her eyes widen when she realises that perhaps that’s not the kind of thing to say to a man who’s about to get married to a stranger, and she nearly chokes on her own spit as she scrambles to salvage the situation. “But I’m sure it’ll be fine. He’ll probably be really handsome, right?”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Him being handsome or not is the last of Joe’s worries, considering that it’s going to matter very little in the end. Still, he humours her and laughs</span>
  <span>. “I hope so.” </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>he door gets pushed open then, and a dark-skinned woman with a warm smile poke</span>
  <span>s</span>
  <span> her head through. Her braids have been piled on top of her head, some white flowers worked into the intricate bun, and the ID card dangling from the lanyard around her neck identifies her as one of the crew, the word ‘intern’ stamped across it in bold, black letters.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>How are you feeling?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Nervous,” Joe says, not bothering to exp</span><span>lain</span><span> that he’s probably nervous for all the wrong reasons (read: the impending doom of his family’s collective disapproval raining down on him, and not, say, for actually meeting this man who’s going to be his husband). </span></p><p class="western">“<span>Yeah, I get that. I’m Nile, the intern.” She holds out her hand, Joe shakes it. </span></p><p class="western">“<span>Joe.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I know,” Nile chuckles, and then she looks around him. “You and your dad ready to go?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Yes, we should be.” Joe turns around to where his father was just a few moments ago, only to find him distinctly not there. Instead, he’s </span><span>drifted over to a very flustered-looking cameraman who is visibly scrambling to come up with decent answers to his father’s interrogation about his camera equipment. It’s a testament to how little time Joe has spent with his family these last few years that he keeps forgetting to keep track of his father; who, like Joe himself, flickers from one interest to the other when left to his own devices. He </span><span>strongly</span><span> sympathises with his mother for the second time </span><span>in as many days</span><span>.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Baba?”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Ibrahim looks up, confusion on his features before he seems to remember himself, and the situation. He puts away his reading glasses and runs a hand over his close-cropped silver curls. “I would like to resume this conversation at a later stage,” he says in his </span>
  <span>a</span>
  <span>ccented English, nodding at the cameraman whose flush is steadily intensifying, “but my son is eager to get married.”</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe </span>
  <span>suppresses another cringe at those words</span>
  <span> as his father joins him. </span>
  <span>He smiles up at Joe as he reaches out to straighten the lapels of his suit, and fix his bow-tie, even though neither are truly necessary. “</span>
  <span>Remember what I said, yes?” </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe nods,</span>
  <span> and then they’re walking down the aisle, and Joe is waving at some of his younger cousins and at his niece and nephew, and then his father is kissing both his cheeks and leaving him alone, taking a seat next to his mother. He meets her gaze briefly, which is a mistake; he sees the burning disapproval there, her lips pressed tightly together and her gaze sharp and cold. The involuntary sweep he does over the rest of his family is even more of a mistake, as he sees his niece’s very excited face and his sisters’ shared smugness. He resists the urge to flip them off and walks onward instead, taking up his spot at the front.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He shakes the hand of the marriage officiant, and then, when he can no longer postpone the inevitable, he turns his gaze on the man who is standing opposite him.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He smiles his most charming smile as he extends his hand, locking his gaze with clear eyes that appear to contain every colour possible, and says, “Hello, I am Joe.”</span>
</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em><span>People are consumed with the idea of physical attraction. But love and trust and intimacy and attraction can grow and build over time. We’ve matched these couples for a reason, but for these relationships to work they have to put in the work.”</span></em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">Nicky is fucked.</p><p class="western">Well, not literally, but figuratively enough that it’s problematic, and when his frantic gaze catches Andy’s, he knows that she knows, her eyebrows raised and a smirk on her face that makes Nicky want to, well, preferably disappear. Disappearing sounds real nice right about now.</p><p class="western">Because his intended husband is <em>handsome</em>.</p><p class="western">The kind of handsome that turns heads whenever it walks past, the kind of handsome that can, apparently, be detected from a good fifty meters away, as the man walks through the doors beside an older man who has to be his father. The resemblance between the two is very strong; they have the same mouth, the same dreamy eyes, the same tight curls, although the older man wears his a good deal shorter.</p><p class="western">Nicky tries to remember how to breathe, and also, that this is very much not real, this is not a real wedding; he might be getting married to this man but there is no fucking way the lousy premise of this show could actually deliver. Sure, they ticked every box and then some when it comes to this man’s appearance, but there’s more to a man than a smile that very nearly causes Nicky to swoon, and dreamy brown eyes, and a good body (the tailor of that suit deserves a medal).</p><p class="western">Nicky is too old to be shallow about these things. <span>Just because the man is impossibly handsome doesn’t mean he’s a good person, and there’s no way Nicky and he will be compatible. If the man even grows to like him, which, in all honesty, is a rather big hurdle for some to overcome. </span></p><p class="western">
  <span>There’s something sharp in the warmth of the man’s gaze as he turns to face him, extending his hand and introducing himself with a voice that’s warm and clear and very, very lovely. Nicky can see his gaze flicker briefly over Nicky’s body before it settles back on his face, on his too big nose and the concealed bags under his eyes and the hair that’s styled in a way Nicky distinctly disagrees with, and he can see the smile dim a little, become slightly less warm and slightly more forced, and yeah-</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>That seems about right.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky reaches out to grab his hand and introduces himself, and Joe’s grin turns crooked as they shake hands.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Well, you know what they say, don’t be a stranger, Nicky.” His family laughs at the quip, grateful to have something to focus on that isn’t the brewing tension that hangs heavily in the air.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>The marriage officiant clears his throat then, his smile so bright and accepting that Nicky truly wonders if he even realises what the premise of this show is.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Hello everyone,” he speaks up, gesturing to the guests that have gathered and the camera crew that stands beyond, having arranged themselves at strategic positions to get all the best angles. Nicky tries not to grimace when he looks into the lens of the camera just a few metres behind Joe’s shoulder.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>We have gathered here today for a very special occasion. </span><span>These two men are getting married. </span><span>Nicky, meet Yusuf al-Kaysani.” </span><span>He gestures at Joe, who gives him a little wave. “</span>Joe’s friends and family, gathered here today, would like to tell you that Joe is the worst at karaoke, and that this is a trophy he wins hands-down.” The marriage officiant pauses briefly as Joe sends a look of mock-hurt to his family and friends, shaking his head in disbelief at their betrayal. There is laughter.</p><p class="western">“But,” the officiant continues, “they would also like you to know that Joe is a passionate, loving man who wears his heart on his sleeve and whose hugs can pull you up even from the darkest places.” Joe presses his hand to his chest and winks at his audience, pretending that the hurt is smoothed over, and there’s more laughter.</p><p class="western">The marriage officiant turns slightly to address Joe this time. <span>“Joe, </span><span>meet Nicolò di Genova. </span><span>Nicky’s friends would like to say that Nicky, despite being so opposed to pineapple on pizza that he is allergic to it,” </span><span>there’s a brief pause for some laughter, and even Joe looks amused, “</span><span>would do anything to help those in need, and that he is the most caring, selfless person you will ever meet.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>he officiant looks down at his booklet now the introductions are over. “A successful marriage doesn’t just happen. It takes work, it takes understanding, and it takes time.” He pauses and turns to face Joe again. “Do you, Yusuf al-Kaysani, take Nicolò di Genova to be your husband?”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>I do.” It’s said without hesitation.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Do you, Nicolò di Genova, take Yusuf al-Kaysani to be your husband?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I do,” Nicky says after a brief pause, and the officiant smiles. </span><span>He calls for the rings, and Nicky expertly avoids Joe’s eyes as they slide the rings onto each other’s hands. </span><span>The silver looks good against Joe’s skin and the ring is a perfect fit </span><span>Joe’s hand </span><span>is </span><span>warm and soft, his fingers long and </span><span>nimble, artist’s hands</span><span>, and Nicky drops it as soon as he can.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>H</span>
  <span>is own ring is silver as well, and it feels foreign as it sits on his own finger.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>The marriage officiant looks from Joe to Nicky, the brightness of his smile never dimming. </span>
  <span>“I now pronounce you to be husbands. You may choose to kiss.”</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky does meet Joe’s gaze then, and while he can’t even begin to try to decipher all the emotions he can find there, something he sees must be putting him at ease, because the next thing he knows, they are kissing.</span>
</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em><span>Once they walk down the aisle, these participants might be feeling some anxiety and apprehension. That’d be the first time that they’re really feeling the reality of the decision that they made to participate in this experiment.”</span></em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<span>So, are all your friends lesbians?” Joe blurts out when they’ve walked down the aisle and gotten to the little table they’ve set up at the side of the courtyard, where they’re supposed to be having their first real conversation. Joe </span><span>wants</span><span> to start it off with something smooth and good-natured, but as he ca</span><span>tches</span><span> those clear eyes, he panick</span><span>s</span><span>.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky is… actually very handsome. Joe would know; he’s spent the entire ceremony studying those eyes and that face after his first assessment that Nicky was definitely not ugly, at the very least. The longer he looks, though, the more he comes to the realisation that Nicky isn’t just not ugly, he’s actually really fucking handsome. The kind of handsome he would definitely be checking out shamelessly, if they’d met under less absurd circumstances. </span>
  <span>His voice is beautiful too, low and musical, lilting with his Italian accent.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>However, t</span>
  <span>here’s something about </span>
  <span>Nicky</span>
  <span> that makes Joe feel nervous. And nervous Joe is, famously, an idiot.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky frowns at him, his grip tightening slightly on his glass of champagne. He hasn’t drunk any from it, which Joe understands, because champagne really is pretty nasty. Still, he takes a sip of his own, because any alcohol will help this situation, holy fuck.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>No,” Nicky says, slowly. “Andy is bisexual.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe laughs at that, and Nicky frowns at him, and Joe tries to get himself under control. He’s making an ass of himself in front of his husband and the entire fucking country. That </span>
  <span>realisation</span>
  <span>, at least, is enough to make his panicked laughter die in his throat.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>It is very different,” Nicky continues.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Yeah, I know- </span><span>never mind. </span><span>I’m sorry.” He clears his throat, takes another sip from his champagne. </span></p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>he silence stretches on, awkward. </span>
  <span>The director coughs, and Joe curses at himself. He’s usually more eloquent than this. He can charm the bark off any tree, wax poetry about even the simplest thing, and here he stands, in front of his husband, acting like his tongue is made of lead. </span>
  <span>Sure, Nicky isn’t exactly the most forthcoming himself, but that should be a</span>
  <span>n opportunity for Joe to blossom</span>
  <span>, not a reason to shut up.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe stares at Nicky, with his brilliant eyes and sharp jaw and broad, broad shoulders. </span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Am I what you expected?” he asks, looking up at Nicky from underneath his lashes, tilting his head just so, stepping slightly more into his space. He’s going to have to spend six weeks with the man, and the entire thing is going to be broadcast on national television. Joe has a reputation to live up to, dammit.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky looks at him, startled. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Just wondering how much of a disappointment I am.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>You’re not a disappointment,” Nicky rushes to say, and then he coughs as he averts his gaze. There’s a slight flush building on his cheeks already, and Joe supposes that it shouldn’t be hard at all, to make someone with such a pale complexion blush. </span></p><p class="western">“<span>Yeah?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Are you just fishing for compliments?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Well, you are my husband.” Nicky grimaces slightly at the term, just the barest movement of the corner of his mouth, but Joe catches it and sympathises, because, yeah, same. “Who else is going to compliment me?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Please tell me you do own a mirror.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe chuckles, </span>
  <span>and because he’s pretty sure that that’s Nicky </span>
  <span>
    <em>flirting</em>
  </span>
  <span> with him</span>
  <span>, </span>
  <span>he s</span>
  <span>teps a little closer. Close enough to notice that Nicky is just a little bit shorter, close enough to smell him. “So, what do you do for a living?”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>I’m a doctor.” At least that is something he can dangle in front of his mother’s face. Look, mama, you don’t approve of this man, and he will not stick around for long, but he is a doctor, isn’t that wonderful?</span></p><p class="western">“<span>What kind?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Emergency medicine. What do you do?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I’m an art teacher, secondary school.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky’s lips tick up into a tiny smile, only perceivable because Joe is so close by and staring rather intently at his face, his mouth, the perfect curve of his cupid’s bow. “Tough?”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>No, not really. The kids seem to think I’m pretty cool.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Keeping up with the memes for them?” He pronounces memes like me-mes. Of course he does. </span></p><p class="western">“<span>I try, but they tend to be rather forgiving, considering how I’m ancient and all.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Someone clears their throat nearby, and Joe tears his gaze away from Nicky to look at the director. </span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>The photographer is waiting for you.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Right,” Joe says, putting his glass back down on the table. Nicky does the same. Joe hesitates for only a moment before he offers his arm, and Nicky hesitates for only a moment before he’s hooking his own through it.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Taking wedding pictures with Nicky turns out to be surprisingly fun. His smiles get a little looser when Joe starts cracking jokes, and it’s nice to hold him as they pose close to each other. They share brief kisses at the insistence of the photographer, and Nicky’s lips are soft against his own. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>And w</span>
  <span>hen the photographer shows them a few of the photos</span>
  <span>?</span>
  <span> Joe can’t help but notice that Nicky and he look damn good together.</span>
</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em>The first dance is that intimate moment when everyone is going to be looking at you interact as a couple. Emotions are running high, and you realise you’re going through this crazy experiment together.”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">Joe is a good dancer.</p><p class="western">His hand rests lightly on Nicky’s waist, and he can feel Joe’s wedding band where their fingers are intertwined. He’s very close. He smells very nice.</p><p class="western">“Do you like to dance, Nicky?” Joe asks him softly as they move across the dance floor.</p><p class="western">“I used to, when I was younger.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe hums softly, and then he spins Nicky, and they laugh when their chests collide when Nicky comes back to him, and it’s actually really nice.</span>
</p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em>The weddings are now over. This is where expectation meets reality, but emotionally speaking, I think this is for most people when it’s really going to hit. They were just married to a stranger.”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<span>He’s a doctor,” Joe says when he introduces Nicky to his parents, gently pressing his hand against Nicky’s lower back as he urges him </span><span>forward</span><span>.</span></p><p class="western">“That is a very good profession, son,” his father says as he rises from his chair, hand outstretched to accept Nicky’s and shake it excitedly. “I have a few friends who are in the field, they always tell me the most fascinating stories.”</p><p class="western">“Thank you, Mr al-Kaysani.”</p><p class="western">“Ibrahim, please. You are family now.”</p><p class="western">His mother grimaces at his father’s easy acceptance, and he truly does hope that Nicky doesn’t notice the disapproval that’s so evident in her expression. He hopes that the tightness around her mouth and the disappointment in her eyes are more subtle for those who haven’t grown up under that piercing stare.</p><p class="western">“An actual doctor?” his mother says, holding out her hand for Nicky to shake.</p><p class="western">“Yes, I have a medical degree,” Nicky replies, clearly not too put-off by this question. If he notices her coldness, he doesn’t show it.</p><p class="western">“Mariam.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe then introduces Nicky to his sisters. They are sharing a table together. Amira had brought her husband and children, whereas Noor had left hers at home; she’d argued that if she were to watch her brother do something monumentally stupid, she might as well enjoy it to her fullest capacity. Her husband hadn’t complained, eager enough to get away with not attending.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Zahra, his niece, immediately comes up to hug him, a big grin on her face.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>It’s such a pretty wedding!” she enthuses in Dutch. Her curls have been pulled into pigtails, the lilac scrunchies in her hair matching the colour of her dress. </span></p><p class="western">“<span>I’m glad you think so, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my favourite niece,” Joe says, and Zahra grins as she looks up at him.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I’m going to tell Samia you said I’m your favourite!”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Can’t you both be my favourites?”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Zahra giggles. “No, no, you’ve already said it was me!” </span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” Yasmin is saying in the meantime, and his other sisters nod along sagely, for once all on the same page about something.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>He has always been a handful,” Noor agrees.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Not in a good way,” Amira adds, and that’s when Joe decides to swoop back in, after gently nudging Zahra in the direction of Mounir, her father.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Wait, who are we bashing? I’d hate to miss out on such prime gossip.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>We’re just telling him what to expect,” Yasmin defends. “Someone has to warn him for the art rants and the nerd talk and the-” she pulls a face, “</span><span><em>you</em></span><span>.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>He’s supposed to like me, not hate me,” Joe says, wrapping his arm around Nicky’s shoulders and shielding him with his own body. “He might get the wrong idea!”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>He can hear Nicky’s soft, amused laughter from beside his ear, and it sends a tingly sensation up his spine. When he gazes at him, Nicky is grinning, broader than he’s seen on his face before. </span>
  <span>It’s a good look.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Are you laughing at my expense?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>No,” Nicky says quickly, shady enough that Joe gasps, taking a step back.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>You have already recruited him to your unworthy cause.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Good, this is clearly the cool table. Feel free to join us anytime, Nicky. We have a free chair,” Noor says, gesturing grandly to the chair Zahra is supposed to sit in. </span></p><p class="western">“<span>Thank you,” Nicky says, and Joe wraps his arm around him again to lead him onward.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Many people to meet, I am so sorry to cut our time short.” </span><span>He whisks Nicky away, ignoring the cackling of his sisters behind him.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>They are nice,” Nicky says, and Joe laughs.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>They are bullies, the three of them. Never on the same wavelength about anything unless they can band against me.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Sounds like siblings to me.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Yeah? You have any?” It’s out before Joe can think it through. It’s only after the words have left his mouth that he realises how stupid a thing it is to ask someone who brought a horde of lesbians (and a bisexual) to their wedding instead of blood relatives. Clearly, there’s a reason why Nicky’s family isn’t here, and it’s hardly ever a pretty one, </span><span>with people like them</span><span>. </span></p><p class="western">“<span>An older brother,” Nicky replies, not seeming too upset by Joe’s careless foray into the we-don’t-talk-about-these-things zone. “He wasn’t very nice to me, growing up.” Nicky touches his nose meaningfully.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe winces. “Kids can be cruel.”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>He is ten years older.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Oh.”</span></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em><span>They’re still essentially strangers, but here they are, having to be physically close for the first time in front of everyone.”</span></em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">
  <span>It’s actually… not that bad. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He likes Joe. And, somehow, Joe seems to like him, as well. Conversation between them flows easily after the stiffness and awkwardness from earlier ha</span>
  <span>d</span>
  <span> dissipated, and even meeting his family isn’t too terribly awkward with Joe there to interfere, and it’s strange that having Joe next to him settles his nerves, but somehow it does. It’s something he definitely doesn’t want to be looking into too much, but then again, the entire situation is weird, and anything that makes him feel less on edge is welcome.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>After meeting Joe’s parents and sisters, he leads Joe over to the table that houses his </span>
  <span>own f</span>
  <span>riends. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Quỳnh immediately stands up to hug him, and when she’s done, she reaches out to hug Joe as well. Joe hugs her back enthusiastically. </span>
  <span>He does look like he’s a very good hugger.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Andy gets up to shake his hand, and from the slight pinch of Joe’s brows as she holds onto his hand for slightly longer than perhaps advisable, it is quite clear that her grip is not exactly friendly. Celeste and Laila take it easier, just waving at him, whereas Emma seems to be nearly starstruck.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>You make such a cute couple,” she gushes, her eyes nearly sparkling. Nicky hadn’t invited her, but Quỳnh had, and Nicky actually does appreciate her being here. </span><span>She’s the head nurse at the emergency room he works in, and Nicky has always liked her.</span><span> “I sent a picture to the others, look.” She shoves her phone into Nicky’s face, and Nicky frowns as he takes it from her, reading the name of the nurses’ group chat and then the many exclamation marks and heart emojis that follow a picture of Joe and Nicky at the altar.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Colleagues?” Joe asks, unsubtly peering along over Nicky’s shoulder.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>No, just us silly nurses, fawning over our favourite doctor finally, </span><span><em>finally </em></span><span>getting </span><span>into </span><span>a relationship. It’s been so long, and so many failed attempts </span><span>to set him up on our part</span><span>.” Emma sighs as she takes the phone back from Nicky. “So many single fathers swooning at him, only for him to give them the cold shoulder…”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>That was once,” Nicky says, eyebrows knitted together in a frown.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>T</span><span>hr</span><span>ice,” Celeste coughs.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Before Nicky can protest, Quỳnh sweeps in, “So, Joe, what do you do?”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>I’m a secondary school teacher. Not very impressive, I’m afraid.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>What subject?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Art and art history.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>So you’re an artist?” Quỳnh asks with interest.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Yeah, not a very successful one, though. You know what they say, if all else fails, become a teacher.” Joe chuckles, a nice, warm sound. “Although that’s not entirely true, I do like teaching.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>They excuse themselves from that table shortly after that, moving on from Nicky’s friends back to some of Joe’s.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>This is Sebastien, but we call him Booker, courtesy of his awful last name,” Joe explains as he introduces a tall blond man, “and this is his girlfriend, Sophie.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Do you hear how he introduces me, Bastien? </span><span><em>Girlfriend</em></span><span>,” Sophie stage-whispers, nudging Sebastien. Sebastien just groans.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Thanks Joe, really needed that.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>You’re welcome, my friend.”</span></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em><span>At this moment, they haven’t been in private, and they won’t be until after the wedding party. So it’s a little bit awkward, because it’s just like a first date in front of all the people who are dear to you, who are all there.”</span></em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">
  <span>They eventually manage to sit down to eat a little, but not much, before the dancing really starts and he’s got Zahra at his side tugging at his sleeve and asking him to dance with her. So Joe smiles at Nicky and then goes to the dance floor, spinning his niece around as they dance across it. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He loses track of Nicky for a while, mostly distracted with Zahra and then his sisters. </span>
  <span>H</span>
  <span>e’s dancing with Sophie when he catches sight of Nicky out of the corner of his eye, and then promptly forgets to lift his foot for the next step, and has Sophie standing on his toes.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Ah, merde, I swear I was starting to become better at this,” Sophie complains, and </span><span>wh</span><span>en she notices that Joe isn’t really paying attention to her, she follows his gaze and finds him looking at Nicky instead. Nicky, who is dancing with the Asian woman he’d been introduced to earlier, and who can, as Joe had </span><span>already noted</span><span>, </span><span><em>really</em></span><span> dance. He’s loose in the hips, light on his feet, and he does not hesitate to let the woman lead. </span><span>He’s also taken off his suit jacket, and those trousers and that </span><span><em>ass</em></span><span>.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>It’s a sight.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Sophie pinches his shoulder to make Joe look back at her. “So, you like him?”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>No,” Joe says automatically, then </span><span>winc</span><span>es and backtracks. He starts moving again, Sophie following his lead. “I mean, yes? I think so. He seems nice.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Sure.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>What?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I think you mostly think his butt looks nice. Which I can’t blame you for.” Sophie laughs as Joe twirls her. “He’s handsome, though.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe sighs in agreement.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>He’s also your husband.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe groans. “Why do you need to remind me of that?”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>I mean, it might be good to think of him as such? You will be sharing a bed with him in a few hours, Joe. You can touch, if you want to.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I think he’d cut out my kidney or something if I tried anything funny. Maybe sell it on the black market or something.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Sophie doesn’t look very amused. “You could talk to him about it.”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>I’m not going to jump his bones. I’m just going to, you know.” Joe smacks his lips in thought. “Try to live with him? There’s no way we’re compatible.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>What gave you that impression?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>How high </span><span>are</span><span> the success rate</span><span>s </span><span>for these things even?” Joe snorts. “I’m also not here voluntarily.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Yes, you are. You could have stepped out of this thing at any time, but you didn’t. You went through all those interviews and wedding prep, and you said ‘</span><span>I do’</span><span>, and now you’re here, and you have a husband with a wonderful butt that he’d probably let you touch if you ask nicely.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I don’t want to touch his ass.” It’s easier to focus on that than the truth that lies in the rest of her words, anyway. How is he even supposed to defend himself? Say that he was, what, curious? He’s always fallen in love hard and fast. What is he trying to achieve, to overwhelm himself and see if marrying a guy minutes after meeting him is too fast even by his standards?</span></p><p class="western">“<span>You’re such a liar,” Sophie snickers. </span></p><p class="western">“<span>I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily want to touch. I’d definitely want to bite.” His words startle a giggling fit out of Sophie, and they laugh together as they whirl over the dance floor.</span></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em><span>The wedding night, in the olden days, was the first time these couples would have sex. But for our couples, this is also the first night they’ve known each other, so that’s a lot of expectations, and not all couples will be able to live up to all of them.”</span></em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">
  <span>It’s the producer who eventually tells them it’s time to wrap up for the night, </span>
  <span>and </span>
  <span>it’s good timing. Nicky’s feet are killing him; it has been ages since he’s danced this much, and his feet are killing him.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Andy smacks him hard on the shoulder when he goes to hug her goodbye.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>I guess I’ll see you at the other end, man,” she grins. “Married, who would have thought.” </span></p><p class="western">“<span>Stop teasing him, love,” Quỳnh chides gently as she pulls Nicky into a hug of her own. </span></p><p class="western">
  <span>He says goodbye to Emma, who hugs him excitedly and tells him how </span>
  <span>Angela ha</span>
  <span>s already printed the picture of the ceremony and hung it on the announcement board (Nicky fights back a grimace at those words; guess he’s not going to be successful about keeping this quiet at work after all). Celeste and Laila wish him a nice honeymoon, and then he finds Joe again, says goodbye to Joe’s parents, and leaves the room at Joe’s side.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe has shrugged off his jacket at some point and, unlike Nicky, hadn’t bothered to put it back on. Nicky tries not to look too hard at how the fabric of his shirt stretches over his muscular frame, but it’s hard. </span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Did your family have a good time?” Nicky asks as they walk toward the elevator.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I think so. Zahra, my niece, was very excited. She said she wants her wedding to be like this one, when she’s old enough. Including the cameras.” Joe laughs. Nicky likes Joe’s laugh. “I told her we’d have a good conversation about that when she’s older.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Lecture her on stranger danger?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>God, yeah,” Joe agrees vehemently. “Although I don’t think I’m the best person to do that, considering, you know. Stranger.” He bumps his shoulder against Nicky’s.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I’m your husband</span><span>,</span><span>” </span><span>Nicky reminds him dryly.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Fuck, that sounds so weird to hear. Do you want me to call you hubby now? Because I can do that. Perhaps not without sarcasm, but I can try.” Nicky grimaces, and Joe laughs. “Or wifey?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Is it too soon to ask for a divorce?” Nicky asks the cameraman, whose pale, freckled cheeks have once again adopted a particularly bright red hue. </span></p><p class="western">“<span>No divorces!” Nile calls from behind them. “I’ve got money on you guys, better make it worth it.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Joe turns around, walking backwards, to wink at her. “Can I get in on that bet?”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Depends on how much you’re offering, man. I’m feeling pretty confident about this one.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky supposes that that makes one person who is confident about any of this, which is more than zero.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>They get into the elevator, just them and the blushing cameraman. </span>
  <span>Nile gives them a thumbs-up before the doors slide closed; she’ll be taking the other one with the remainder of the crew.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Nicky leans against the back wall of the elevator and Joe does the same. “This is pretty weird,” Joe decides. He turns his head so he’s facing Nicky, and he is very close. Nicky can count the freckles across his nose and cheekbones, can see the individual hears of his </span>
  <span>eyelashes, thick and plentiful around his dreamy eyes</span>
  <span>. There’s a wayward curl that’s hanging in front of Joe’s forehead. Nicky suppresses the urge to brush it back.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Yes,” he agrees instead.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>They get to their floor soon enough, and they wait near the elevator doors for Nile and the rest to come up. When they get to the door of the honeymoon suite (Nicky tries not to flinch when he sees the words engraved into the wood of the door</span>
  <span>)</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>So, who’s carrying who over the threshold?” the director asks, tapping her pen against a </span><span>notepad</span><span>. Joe bristles at the mention of that alone.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>That’s a very barbaric practice,” he says, his voice heated. “Plus, that would </span><span>send the wrong message, don’t you think? We’re both consenting adults, neither of us needs to be dragged over a threshold to commit to this.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Okay,” the director says, blinking. “What about you, Nicky? You’re Italian.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I’m not Roman.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Okay,” the director says. </span></p><p class="western">“<span>So, who wants to open the door?” Nile pipes up, trying her best to hide her grimace with a smile as she holds out the keys. Joe takes them, thanking her quietly. Nicky feels slightly nervous as he steps into the room past Joe when he’s holding open the door for him, the tension in his body very clear in his drawn up shoulders, the stubborn set of his jaw and the furrow in his brow. It doesn’t suit him; Joe has a face meant for joy, with his laughter lines and brilliant smile.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>It’s a nice suite, entirely too luxurious for the short amount of time they will be staying here for. The bed is large with many excess pillows, there’s a separate seating area with a coffee maker and an electric kettle. </span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>There’s a TV, Joe,” Nicky calls out when he sticks his head into the bathroom, finding there a big bath tub with on one end, a TV.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>What, in the bathroom?” Joe asks, incredulous, and then he’s joining Nicky in the doorway, and laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the flat screen placement.</span></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">“<em>Joe and Nicky have said ‘I do’, but will they make it through the wedding night?”</em></p><p class="western">–</p><p class="western">buzzfeed.com/fellynefitzmaurice/obsessed-with-mafs-<span>joe-nicky</span>/</p><p class="western"><b>We Are OBSESSED With Married At First Sight UK’s </b><span><b>Joe And Nicky</b></span><br/>Posted 2 hours ago</p><p class="western">by <span class="u"><b>fellynefitzmaurice<br/></b></span>BuzzFeed Staff</p><p class="western">
  <b>View 193 comments</b>
</p><p class="western">
  
</p><p class="western">When the queer season of Married At First Sight UK premiered on the 31<sup>st</sup> of January we were all very excited but also a little sceptical. The creators of the show had been reluctant to include same-sex couples in earlier seasons because “It is hard to keep the two families completely separated when it cannot be done by gender”, which is, if we are being honest, a bullshit reason. So, we could only be quietly hopeful that they would be able to do the queer couples they paired up for this season justice.</p><p class="western">AND THEY DID.</p><p class="western">So, we would like to bring attention to the SHEER PERFECTION that is Joe and Nicky. When we first met them separately in last week’s episode “Wedding Preparations” we had our doubts about the match between the smoking hot secondary school teacher Joe al-Kaysani and the quiet but very handsome A&amp;E Consultant Nicky, but after this week’s Valentine’s episode “The Weddings” we have to give it to the matchmakers: these two are <b>perfect </b>for each other.</p><p class="western">If you can’t see the sheer genius that is the Joe x Nicky match, make sure to check the article below, where we have listed 15 reasons why Joe and Nicky belong together (if the wedding picture above isn’t already convincing enough on its own, because, HELLO *fans self*):</p><p class="western">
  <span class="u">
    <b>15 Reasons Why </b>
  </span>
  <span class="u">
    <b>You Should Be</b>
  </span>
  <span class="u">
    <b> OBSESSED With MAFS UK’s Joe And Nicky</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Episode 4: The Wedding Night And The Morning After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joe and Nicky are officially married! Time to unpack some gifts and actually talk to each other. Oh, and share a bed, of course!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A Valentine's Day update!!! Wasn't sure if I'd be making it, but here we are. :] Please accept this gift to y'all!<br/>I'm still blown away by the huge amount of response I'm getting to this fic &lt;3 I feel so honoured!!! </p><p>Next chapter will be the honeymoon, I have SO MUCH PLANNED!!! :D (including a drawing of Nicky in Vacation Mode. Uhu ;) )</p><p>Very special thanks to Morvith, who keeps me sane, helps me out, and gives me so much praise that I'm reduced to a blushing mess, so, yes. Thank you &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You might think it’s really tough to be around a stranger and have an intense, fast relationship, but in fact, you see it all the time. People meet and they bond and there’s this immediate connection. So, yes, the process might be a little awkward, but do we have the capability to fall for someone just like that? We do.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a big bag filled with gifts that Nile is adamant they open together, even though the mere sight of it fills Joe with a sense of dread. He’s pretty sure he’d die a happy man if he never has to find out what’s in there, but the director agrees with Nile, and Nicky sits down next to him at the foot of the bed as Joe reluctantly pulls the bag closer to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he tells Nicky softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you scared of?” Nicky asks, lifting the bag up onto the bed so it’s sitting between the both of them, and then pulling out the first wrapped gift. “This is from Booker and Sophie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh God,” Joe groans. He takes the gift from Nicky but decidedly doesn’t open it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is from Amira.” Joe groans even harder. “And this is from your mother. Don’t you want to open them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t. Please, Nicky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How bad can it be?” That’s when Nicky pulls out another gift. It’s badly wrapped and in a very distinct shape that has both of them ogling it. Nicky turns the card so he can see who sent it, and shakes his head. “From Andy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else does it say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t want to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky presses his lips together and curls his fingers around the dildo protectively. “You don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do realise that this just makes me more curious, right?” Joe says, eyebrows raised. “Don’t make me fight you for a silicone dick, Nicky. I think that’s beneath both of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky tears his gaze away from the dildo to look at Joe instead, one eyebrow raised, the ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Is it?</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ so clear that Joe’s breath catches in his throat for a moment and then he’s launching himself over the bag of gifts and right at Nicky. Nicky yells in surprise as Joe crashes into him, and then he’s got his fingers around the dildo, pulling it out of Nicky’s hand. There’s a distinct tearing sound as the wrapping paper gives, and he laughs as he holds the dildo victoriously in his hands and finds that it’s a horrible neon green colour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a choice,” Joe decides, turning the card around and laughing when he reads it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky sighs, which Joe can feel very intimately considering he’s halfway plastered across Nicky’s lap, one hand holding onto the green monstrosity and the other resting just behind Nicky, and when the realisation hits that he’s kind of sitting on Nicky’s lap while holding a monster dildo, he chokes on his laughter and starts coughing instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Nicky asks dryly, looking vaguely amused as he plucks the dildo from Joe’s grasp and tosses it back into the gift bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, totally.” Joe removes himself from Nicky’s lap and goes back to his respective side of the bag, those broad shoulders and smiling lips firmly out of reach. “I suppose this is all a lot less intimidating now. I think you have worse friends than I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although, Booker definitely gives Andy a run for her money as Joe unwraps his gift. It’s two pairs of speedos, clearly taken from different sets. One of them is black and spells Mister in the Disney font across the butt, and the other is red and has the word Hubby on it with a heart behind it. The card congratulates them on their wedding, and claims that speedos are a must-have just in case their honeymoon sends them to France.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yasmin’s gift is bagged tea, the box proudly proclaiming that tea is the best conversation starter, and that, for that reason, the labels of the tea bags have questions on them. He opens the card that’s been haphazardly duct-taped to the unwrapped box (Joe will be giving her so much shit for this later) and snorts as he sees the messy scrawl of Yasmin’s handwriting.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey idiot, I’m sure there’s a quote somewhere that says something like “a good conversation is worth a 1000 euros” or something equally woozy, and since you tend to be an idiot when it comes to guys you like, I thought I’d be helpful and give you these AMAZING tea bags. I even got them mint-flavoured, best sister ever, am I right?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Love you lots.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>PS you might want to check the expiration date oops</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets a hand-drawn card from his niece. She’s written a sweet message on the back of it in glitter pen, the beginning of the message reading</span>
  <em>
    <span> Voor de allerallerallerallerallerallerliefste oom</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the ‘i’ dotted with a heart, and Amira has given a couple of hideous ‘Just Married!’ mugs to go along with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He despairs the most when he sees the gift Noor has gotten him; the shape of it is unmistakable even under the wrapping paper. He groans loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Nicky asks. He’s been quiet while they sort through the gifts. Quỳnh (and also Andy, by extension) has given them a rather extensive collection of holiday items, with sunscreen and bath bombs and some novels. Nicky has let him read the card that’s attached to the gift basket, and it proudly proclaims that Quỳnh and Andy are delighted that Nicky will finally, for once, take a holiday. They can’t wait to see holiday-Nicky and expect a lot of photographic evidence from his new husband. And,of course, there was also the entire dildo thing, and even though Nicky had made Joe fight him for it, he had let Joe read the little card Andy had attached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So yes, it’s only fair that Joe shares this with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He unwraps the gift, groaning again when the familiar brightly-coloured ceramic comes into view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is a beautiful bowl,” Nicky says carefully, sounding genuinely puzzled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a bowl, it’s a vase.” He holds it up. “I made it for my sister when she was getting married. I was nine.” It’s the most ugly thing he’s ever created, the stick figure drawings he made when he was four included. It’s lumpy and misshaped, definitely more of a bowl than a vase with the opening too wide to be of much use when holding flowers, and the thing too shallow to hold much water in general. He’d been proper creative with the decorating, but the colours he’d chosen hadn’t worked well on the brown of the clay, and it’s very, very ugly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky frowns slightly as he looks at it, probably tries his very best to empathise with the artistic vision of nine-year-old Joe. “I see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the gifts are normal, mundane even, which is a true relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After they have dug through most of the gifts in the bag, the camera crew leaves the room, telling them that they will be back at 10 the next morning, and that Joe and Nicky are expected to still be in bed at the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I do not believe that consenting adults have to go by any certain rules when it comes to sex. But we can’t expect for that to happen immediately with a total stranger, even if you are married. They may be so overwhelmed and swept off by the moment that some people might just jump right into bed after their wedding night, and for some couples it might take a while. Whatever works for you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, Nicky,” Joe says when he returns from the bathroom, his curls still damp and dripping onto the fabric of his t-shirt. He’s just wearing underwear, and Nicky is decidedly not looking at those thighs, or how that t-shirt strains over his chest. He just isn’t sure if Joe’s face is a safer bet; he looks positively mouth-watering, the steam of the shower having made his curls a little frizzy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky thinks he does an admirable job of keeping his cool, though, as he sticks his finger between his novel to mark the page, and hums.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe looks uncomfortable as he sits on the edge of the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh. I just want to be upfront with you about this, because I realise that this might actually be something you had expectations for, and I just want to come clean to you now.” Joe inhales deeply, seems to steel himself for the big revelation, and Nicky can’t help but feel amused. “I’m not in this because I actually wanted to be married, or anything. It’s a mistake, and I shouldn’t have gone through with it, and I’m sorry that you’re stuck with me, instead of some bloke who is more,” Joe pauses, worries at his bottom lip, “enthusiastic about this entire ordeal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe bats his dark eyelashes at Nicky, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. “So, yes, that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here, then?” Nicky asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe squirms a little on the edge of the bed. “Uh, a bet. You remember my friend Booker? Tall, blond, awfully French? Gave us speedos? Yeah, he wagered that I wouldn’t be getting through the application process.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re here because your ego couldn’t take that blow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No.” Joe pulls a face as he realises that yes, that’s exactly how it all sounds. “No. Definitely not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Nicky says, taking pity on the man. He opens his book again, gently smoothing his hand over the page. “I’m not here because I wanted to get married either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> desperate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I meant!” Joe whines. “It’s more, what are the odds of both of us not wanting to participate in this shit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps that is what they matched us on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? I remember you calling me handsome earlier today, so I think it’s more than just that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t recall saying that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, not with as many words, but, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Nicky looks at Joe, he’s waggling his eyebrows, and he can’t help but laugh, hiding his mouth behind his hand as a snort escapes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>snort</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Joe exclaims, and then he’s suddenly very close, throwing himself onto the bed so he’s lying just beside Nicky, beaming up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Nicky mumbles, manoeuvring his book so he’s hiding Joe’s ridiculously handsome face from view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> here then?” Joe eventually asks, and when Nicky moves his book, he hasn’t moved from his spot at all. He’s smiling softly, and he’s really quite close. Nicky’s gaze flickers down to his lips on its own accord. The kisses they’ve been sharing have been… lovely; that mouth is very distracting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My friends got tired of trying to set me up. Figured I’d have a harder time crawling out of this, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you don’t like dating?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Nicky puts his bookmark between the pages and closes the book, giving up on reading now Joe is back in the room. It’s clear that Joe wants to converse, and Nicky isn’t exactly opposed to humouring him. “Which is why this is a horrible idea. It’s basically a six-week-long date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It kinda is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good thing neither of us has any expectations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe laughs in agreement, poking Nicky in the thigh. Nicky sees the slight raise of his eyebrows when he finds Nicky’s thigh to be surprisingly firm, and he fights against the pleased smile that’s threatening to blossom on his face. It doesn’t matter if Joe is impressed, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe averts his gaze, clears his throat. “We should probably talk about a few things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like?” Nicky prods when it’s clear that Joe isn’t just going to elaborate without being prompted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cuddle when I’m asleep, so unless you want me to koala onto you, we will need to build a barricade. Fortunately we have many, many decorative pillows. Even then, it won’t be foolproof. Sleeping-me tends to be pretty persistent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I also run pretty hot, so if you’re okay with it, I’d really prefer to sleep in just my underwear. It’s warm in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I also hate waking up in the mornings, so, I snooze. A lot. If that bothers you, feel free to just kick me out of the bed or something. Not promising that it’ll work, but it might wake me up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I talk in my sleep sometimes as well.” Joe pauses, looks at Nicky, undoubtedly seeing Nicky’s amusement reflected on his face, and frowns. “You have any weird sleeping things, or is it just me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Might be just you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re full of shit, Nicky. There’s no such thing as not having bad sleeping habits, c’mon, spill.” When he doesn’t, Joe pokes him in the thigh again, harder this time (still firmer than expected; still impressed). “C’mon, we’re bonding here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a light sleeper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so, yes. I’ve never had any complaints about my sleeping manners.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh. Lucky you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we can build a barricade, if that’s what you prefer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I said, you know it’s not,” Joe complains. “Why are you being so difficult?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am being agreeable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe stares at him, incredulous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree, cuddling on the first night we know each other might be a bit much,” Nicky elaborates, shrugging. “I think that constitutes being agreeable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m never going to argue with you, I can already tell it’s the most frustrating thing in the world. I suppose that’s why we got married, every time I throw a hissy fit you’ll just sit there and be all placating and tell me ‘yes, dear’ to whatever I’m going on about, and I will feel like a Karen and be shamed into silence.” Joe starts pulling out pillows from behind Nicky’s back, and Nicky sits forward slightly to allow him. “I will not be shamed into silence, Nicky. My hissy fits are important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky isn’t very surprised that the next pillow Joe pulls out from behind him finds its way directly into Nicky’s face, and then they’re off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe spending your wedding night having a pillow fight with your frustratingly handsome husband that you never wanted isn’t quite the way Nicky expected it to go, but as they’re lying next to each other minutes later, a haphazardly erected what Joe dubbed the Great Wall of Pillows separating the two sides of the bed, Nicky supposes it could be a whole lot worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>They may be married, but our couples are still total strangers. The wedding night will be the first time they are completely alone with one another.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe isn’t sure how he’s supposed to sleep ever again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They turned off the lights nearly an hour ago, and while Joe had been perfectly drowsy before while Nicky finished reading the chapter of his book (some non-fiction about the Roman Empire, a choice that Joe will be quizzing him about soon enough), he’s wide awake now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is suddenly hyper-aware of everything happening on the other side of the pillow wall. He’s breathing shallowly as he listens to Nicky’s quiet breaths, and he’s not sure if Nicky’s fallen asleep, but he definitely hasn’t moved for the past hour, lying perfectly still where he’s settled in curled up on his side. At the very least Nicky didn’t lie about his perfect sleeping habits: he doesn’t snore, he doesn’t talk. He might as well not be there at all. Which, really, would have been preferable; perhaps his mind could have focussed on something else than its current amazement regarding the fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>there’s a hot man sleeping in your bed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe’s learning a lot of new things about himself during this experiment and he’s liking exactly none of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe grumbles and turns onto his other side, trying to not jostle the bed too much as he fights the duvet all the way. When he’s finally settled again, he quickly comes to the conclusion that he’s too hot; the duvet he’s just wrestled along with him is kicked off, only to be pulled over him ten minutes later when he starts getting a little chilly, and, well, rinse and repeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches the clock for a particularly fascinating five minutes before he turns around again. He kneads his pillow until it’s in a more comfortable shape. He fluffs it up when he realises that ‘comfortable’ is apparently a pretty fucking random state of being, and then throws his pillow off the bed altogether.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must have drifted off eventually; the next time he looks at the clock it’s 6am and he’s burrowed halfway through the Great Wall of Pillows. He’s drooling excessively on the one underneath his head, and he smacks his lips unhappily as he lifts his head to look blearily around the room. The other side of the bed is empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not too concerned about it; he falls asleep the moment his head reunites with the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he wakes up again, there’s sunlight streaming through the flimsy curtains, the room is almost unbearably hot, and Nicky is back. The latter Joe only comes to realise when he attempts to hide his face in his pillow and finds it to be most unforgiving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jerks upward, the back of his head colliding with Nicky’s hand, knocking the book out of his fingers and onto the bed, and his body is still trying to figure out if it’s awake at all as he supports himself on shaking arms, one of his palms digging painfully into the meat of Nicky’s (thick, very thick, something Joe should </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> be thinking about right now) thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” Nicky grits out between clenched jaws, and Joe comes to himself enough to roll over, taking his weight from Nicky and plopping down onto the bed. “You definitely weren’t exaggerating your sleeping habits.” Joe looks over at Nicky, sees him rub his thigh with a slightly pinched expression. He doesn’t sound accusatory, more amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“’M sorry,” he mumbles sleepily, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back as his joints pop. He cracks one eye open to look at Nicky, and when he sees that Nicky’s gaze is decidedly not on Joe’s face, he arches his back up a little higher. He might not be functionally awake yet, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to make the most of this opportunity.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky coughs, his cheeks tinted a distinctive rosy hue, and Joe lets himself melt back into the mattress. “It's 9:45.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe hums.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The camera crew will be here in fifteen minutes, roughly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Camera crew? The words don't register at first, but when they do, Joe pushes himself up quickly. “Fuck. How do I look?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky bites his lip, averting his gaze. “You might want to go clean up in the bathroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe sighs. “Bedhead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it turns out, it's worse than just bedhead. Joe looks absolutely horrified as he stares back at himself in the mirror. His hair is in such disarray that he's quite certain he can't salvage it without washing it first, and he does not look rested. If anything, he looks like he’s spent the entire night doing things of a decidedly different nature than sleeping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groans unhappily as he splashes cold water in his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>– </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s important to remember that there’s many different types of intimacy. Our couples now really have to begin to learn about each other and how to foster day to day intimacy. These are strangers they’re getting to know, they really need to know how to connect in that way.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>– </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky busies himself with tidying the room as Joe locks himself in the bathroom, trying his absolute hardest not to think about last night as he rearranges the many decorative pillows that have not survived the absolute menace that is a sleeping Joe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He somehow manages to keep his mind carefully blank until he’s climbed back into bed again, pulling the duvet over himself as he settles against the mountain of pillows now at his back, his book held in his hands. He fully intends to get back to reading, but that’s, of course, when he remembers that Joe had been asleep on his thigh not even five minutes ago, and how cute he’d looked and, well… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky is fucked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groans as he puts his book back down, thumping the back of his head against the headboard in frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky had hardly slept last night, too riled up about Joe lying on the other side of that pillow wall to relax, and Joe had moved around a lot, jostling him fully awake any time Nicky was even close to drifting off. And it’s not like a part of him had been hoping that maybe Joe would break through that wall and cuddle up next to him, of course, but he might definitely have held his breath every time Joe moved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d gotten up at 6 to go on his morning run and taken a shower after that; when he’d come back to the bed, Joe had burrowed his way halfway through the pillows, and it had only escalated from there. While Nicky had settled in with his book, Joe had gravitated steadily closer to him, until his thigh was acting as a pillow for Joe’s cheek. Nicky had tried to push him off at first, half-heartedly, even tried talking to him, but Joe’s responses had been nonsensical, and he hadn’t budged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, well, Nicky had done the only logical thing: he’d softly pet Joe’s curls while he attempted to read, trying to ignore the erratic beating of his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thumps his head against the headboard again as he remembers Joe stretching, the expanse of soft brown, freckled skin stretched over his defined abs, his shoulders, his back, his ass, his thighs, his chest; it’s not like it matters, it almost seems like Joe has been designed specifically for the purpose of making Nicky’s brain melt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you asleep?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky jumps, opening his eyes to look at Joe, and whatever snippy retort might have been brewing in his throat dies immediately as his mouth turns completely dry. Joe’s there, still just in his underwear, his hair a mess of frizzy curls and his eyes still sleepy, and Nicky’s brain makes a buzzing noise as it turns itself off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He somehow manages to reboot it just as Joe starts to look concerned. “Shouldn’t you pull on a shirt?” he croaks out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe looks down at himself like he hasn’t noticed that he’s practically naked (Nicky forces his gaze to stay locked on that face, he’s not going down, he’s not, even though he can see the blue of Joe’s boxer briefs in his peripheral vision; he has just seen Joe’s bulge, he knows it’s there, he doesn’t have to remind himself that Joe has a dick every few minutes, he’s a fucking adult) and hums.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Joe agrees, and then he drops to his knees to look for the t-shirt he’d discarded before settling in to sleep last night, pulling it over his head in the most undignified way possible as he tries to get his head through one of the arm holes, and all Nicky can think is</span>
  <em>
    <span> oh no</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure if the knock on the door, announcing that both the room service and the camera crew have arrived, is a blessing or a curse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>– </span>
</p><p>
  <span>[A close-up of Nicky, still in the t-shirt he slept in. It’s purple and across his chest is the logo of last year’s Relay For Life. There’s bags under his eyes (for once not hidden with concealer) and his hair is slightly messy. The lighting in the hotel room isn’t too kind on his pale complexion. There’s a tiny smile playing around his lips when the director asks: </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Did you consummate the marriage?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he looks shy as he averts his gaze.]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we didn’t consummate the marriage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>– </span>
</p><p>
  <span>[A close-up of Joe. His hair is tousled, he has bags under his eyes and his smile is tight, not quite as warm or open as usual. It appears that Joe has a lot less tolerance for reality television shit when it’s early in the morning. Getting him to record a confessional at all was a bit of a struggle. Getting him to say something they can use to the simple question: </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Did you consummate the marriage?”</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Even more so.]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you think it is very problematic to put such pressure on the ‘consummation’ of a marriage? What century are we even living in? I think it’s truly up to us what we decide to do on the wedding night, and it is not like a lack of sex in a marriage would make it less meaningful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s not what we mean, Joe.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You know what, never mind.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>– </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The card is hidden underneath the plate of croissants. It’s Nicky who finds it, and also Nicky who reads it first. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Joe and Nicky</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Congratulations</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>We hope love grows between you on your honeymoon under the warmth of the French sun!</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>With Love from</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Your wedding party</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to France.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>– </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“These couples need a honeymoon because they need some private time together to get to know each other without their jobs interfering, their friends calling, their parents approving or disapproving. This is their time.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>– </span>
</p><p> </p><p class="western">
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Episode 5: Honeymoons Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nicky and Joe go on their honeymoon!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always, thanks to everyone who is reading, commenting, kudo'ing and subscribing. Also, thanks to all of you for your patience &lt;3 Special thanks, however, to:</p><p><b>Morvith</b>, who holds my hand and encourages me every step of the way. Without her, this chapter would not exist. (You are the light when I'm lost in darkness, you really are) &lt;3;</p><p><b>marbletopempire</b>, for offering their superb beta skills and giving me some very useful pointers that have definitely made this chapter better and more comprehensive; </p><p><b>silvermadi</b>, for reading through the draft and screaming at everything (such a mood);</p><p><b>Prevalent_Masters</b>, for having superior Married at First Sight knowledge and tearing into this thing with surgical precision, pointing out the clunky parts ;) ; and</p><p><b>MagpieMorality</b>, for giving this a last read through and being awesome in general &lt;3.</p><p>This is a little bit of a team effort, and I'm so glad for all the support I have been getting. Thank you all and hopefully this chapter was worth the wait!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>For our couples, the honeymoon provides the first substantial opportunity to get to know each other and to begin to define their roles in this marriage and in this relationship.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Southern France turns out to be near Nice, and as they drive away from the airport and into the city and countryside, they stay mostly quiet. It’s Joe’s fault; he’s been grumpy since the airport. Even now, as he tilts his face into the warmth of the French sun filtering through the window, he still feels agitated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky is driving and he’s actually a surprisingly mellow driver. Joe would have teased him about it if he had been in the mood, but that’s just the problem: he’s not in the mood. He’s just tired and hungry. He watches unhappily as a sign proclaiming there’s a McDonald’s at the next exit flashes by, and settles into the chair even more unhappily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” Nicky says quietly beside him, hardly loud enough to be heard over the blaring of the radio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not you, Nicky. You were perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky taps his index finger against the steering wheel, and as Joe glances over at him, he sees the downward twist of Nicky’s lips, clearly disbelieving Joe’s words, and, well, that just won’t do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t we stop at the McDonald’s? I really want some ice cream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky glances over at him. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? No lecture about sugar and health risks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky shrugs. He turns on the turn signal to get onto the exit ramp. “You look healthy enough to me.” And yes, that is definitely the hint of a blush that’s dusting Nicky’s cheeks. Joe immediately, miraculously, feels a lot better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pull into the parking lot, and Joe sits at one of the tables outside while Nicky volunteers to get him ice cream. It doesn’t take long before he’s back, a McFlurry for Joe in one hand and a milkshake for himself in the other. Joe thanks him and then pops off the lid so he can easily scoop up an entire spoonful of nuts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’s chewed and swallowed, he looks at Nicky again. Nicky is already looking at him, his sunglasses pushed up on his head as the sun hits him from the back, creating a golden halo around his brown hair, and his cheeks are slightly hollowed as he takes a sip from his milkshake through the straw. Joe grins at the sight, he just can’t not, and Nicky smiles back tentatively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I’m just- I get really fed up with it, you know? It’s always the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to apologise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe huffs, scoops up another spoonful of nuts – he will regret this, when he gets to the ice cream and there won’t be any toppings left – and sticks it into his mouth. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone would have done the same, Joe.” Joe opens his mouth to protest, but Nicky cuts him off. “We’re married now. If that means I have to make a fuss at customs so they won’t choose you for their baggage check, then I will happily do that. I’m pretty good at making a fuss.” Nicky shrugs, those broad, broad shoulders moving up and down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe smiles. “Yeah? What happened to being agreeable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still Italian. We are temperamental by nature.” He makes the Italian gesture and Joe laughs loudly, his bad mood dissipating like snow for the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what flavour milkshake did you get?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky rolls his eyes but there’s that tiny smile playing around his lips again as he offers him the milkshake. Joe makes a little noise of victory as he takes a sip, only to make a face at the taste.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Banana?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s tasty,” Nicky defends with a shrug, his hand already outstretched to take back the cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“These couples have literally just met. They have just married a stranger. And now they are on their honeymoon. They’re in shock. So it will take them a while going through the motions that make other couples feel married. Going on the honeymoon, starting to move in. Those are the things that make them feel like: “Oh my goodness, I actually am married”.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky prides himself on being a good driver. Not brilliant, but good. He doesn’t let himself get distracted, he uses his turn signals, he’s not hotheaded. Usually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, keeping his eyes on the road is a true test of will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe had shrugged off his hoodie after their brief stop at the McDonald’s, and the tank top he’s wearing underneath fits like a glove, the black fabric clinging to his toned chest for dear life. Nicky had already gotten a good eyeful of those pecs and the faint grooves of those abs this morning, but apparently he’s not quite had his fill of them yet because the only thing he can think about while Joe sprawls in the passenger seat is that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Joe is sprawling in the passenger seat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It creates an interesting feedback loop in his mind, with him thinking about Joe, his eyes shifting from the road to sneak a brief glance at Joe, and then him chastising himself for looking at Joe. He’s never felt so desperate in his fucking life, and perhaps going into this entire thing without taking the edge off first was a big mistake. He can’t even remember the last time he had sex, and, in hindsight, that really feels like an oversight on his part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Joe is irresistible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been sweating a little and Nicky picks up the scent of him like he’s one of those dogs trained to sniff out truffles in the forest, catching the traces of coconut and shea butter and sweat and getting excited at what he’s found.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s fucking embarrassing, and Nicky severely regrets not shrugging off his own hoodie before getting behind the wheel. At the very least he can blame the persistent blush that’s warming his cheeks on the heat, if Joe were to confront him with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sneaks another glance at Joe, grateful that his sunglasses hide the movement of his eyes, and tells himself that this is the last one. He won’t indulge after this, not anymore. So he drinks in the sight of Joe in his tank top and skinny jeans, with his backward cap and the little tuft of curls that sticks out of the gap at the front, his brown eyes hidden behind sunglasses of his own. He’s humming along with the radio, slightly off-tune and horribly off-key, and even that is not enough to talk sense into Nicky: if anything, he finds it endearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can hear Andy cackling with delight at his displeasure.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The navigation speaks up then, telling them to keep going straight for the next twenty kilometres, and Nicky startles a little as he forces himself to pay attention to the road again. No more distractions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe has kept the navigation on its initial French setting, pleasantly surprised when Nicky had told him that he knew how to speak French, although even if he hadn’t, he supposes he could have figured out the difference between </span>
  <em>
    <span>à droite</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>à gauche</span>
  </em>
  <span> even if he had never heard French before in his life. It’s not actually that hard. Although he did feel very pleased when Joe praised him for knowing the language and that-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. Better not to think too hard about that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky is also trying very hard not to think of how Joe’s lips would be sweet with the aftertaste of the last few sips of Nicky’s milkshake he’d stolen when Joe speaks up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you sing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone can sing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe clucks his tongue. “I mean, can you sing well?” When Nicky doesn’t reply, he gently bumps his fist against Nicky’s arm. “Better than me?” he tries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky chuckles despite himself, biting his bottom lip. “Yes.” Because, well. Nicky isn’t the best singer, but Joe is… Joe is something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can’t you do? You’re a doctor, you know loads of languages, you can dance and sing…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Art,” Nicky says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you did see my vase.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were nine. I can’t even make something like that now. Just stick figures, and even those look wobbly. Plus, I’m sure you’ve improved drastically over the years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I have,” Joe agrees. “Alright, art. Anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cataloguing my bad qualities, are you?” Nicky hopes his tone comes across airier than he feels; his heart is beating in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! So far you’re like this- this perfect person. No flaws. Not even bad sleeping habits!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have plenty of flaws.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, that’s the thing. I don’t believe you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, this is the time when the navigation informs them that they need to take the next exit, and Nicky has to focus on something else than Joe, sitting next to him, being himself. Joe, for his part, seems to be okay with the conversation halting (for now), and turns up the volume of the radio instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“They don’t know who this person is, they don’t know if this marriage is going to work. As they begin to get emotionally invested, it’s natural for fears to be heightened.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you guys get lost or something?” Nile asks, incredulously, when they finally arrive at the hotel. The location is beautiful; the hotel is clinging to the mountainside, offering a fantastic view of the city underneath, the many white houses with their orange rooftops in stark contrast with the luscious green that separates the streets. It’s a very pretty place, and they had taken a moment after they got out of the car to take in the view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have missed the mountains,” Nicky had said, leaning against the back of the car, and Joe had made an affirmative noise, his gaze not so much on the valley below but more on Nicky, glowing gold in the early evening sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, in the face of Nile’s incredulity and the director’s very obvious displeasure, Joe just smiles sheepishly. “I got hungry,” he defends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He also turned off the volume of the navigation when we were nearly here, because the directions messed up the flow of the song,” Nicky says behind him, and Joe looks over his shoulder just to confirm that, yes, the little smile on Nicky’s face is definitely fond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile laughs, bright and cheerful. She truly is wasted on something as stupid as reality TV, but Joe is happy that they will have her by their sides for this. “That’s valid. I would judge you, but I have done the same, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m judging both of you,” Nicky pipes up, and Joe gently bumps his shoulder against his, grinning at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You liked it, just admit it! You’re fooling no one,” he teases, and Nicky shakes his head at him with a chuckle. He’s taken off his sunglasses and hooked them into the front of his t-shirt, tugging the collar down a little. The skin at the base of his neck is very tantalising, especially since Nicky’s been wrapped up in his hoodie all day, and Joe has to shake himself out of his sudden tunnel vision and reconsider his life decisions, because if a glimpse of collar bone is going to make him go all mushy, he might be in real danger of fainting if Nicky decides to be adventurous and flash him an ankle, or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile shoos them over to the director, who is waiting in the little seating area with some of the crew. The lounge really is quite nice; it’s got a beachy feel, with seagulls and lighthouses painted on the light blue walls, which are also adorned with paintings and pictures of the Mediterranean. It’s exciting to be so close to this sea again, and while France would not have been their first pick (or second, or third…), it’s good to be this close to home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get their itinerary, which mostly consists of the times when the camera crew will be filming them and when they will be free to do whatever, as well as some tentative plans made for the upcoming few days. After this, they are filmed while they check into the hotel, the receptionist congratulating them on their marriage as they do so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They are tailed by the cameras as they make their way to their suite, and when they enter the room Joe doesn’t even have to pretend to be delighted as he sees the towel sculptures on the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re swans, look, Nicky!” he says excitedly, grabbing Nicky’s arm and tugging him further into the bedroom while pointing at the towel-swans, their necks curled into hearts and their beaks touching. Red ribbons have been tied around their necks in pretty bows, and they’re surrounded by rose petals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That they are,” Nicky says, amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t sleep on the bed now, we can’t. Look, it’s their little love nest. We can’t disturb them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky laughs and pulls him close, pressing a sweet kiss to Joe’s temple like a- well, like a husband would. Joe tears his gaze away from the towel-swans to grin at Nicky instead, getting even more excited when he sees the small grin playing around Nicky’s lips. Joe is leaning in and pressing their lips together before he can even think twice about it, but it hardly matters; it’s a brilliant decision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky’s lips are soft and taste of artificial banana flavouring, and Nicky really is a good kisser. It’s Joe who breaks off the kiss, when he’s grinning too hard to keep it going, and then he’s pulling Nicky along to explore the rest of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We set the stage for romance, because it’s very important. We need to do things that encourage us to feel warm and intimate and close, and that’s what this honeymoon is about.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s going dark by the time they settle in for dinner at the hotel restaurant. The view of the sun setting over the valley is gorgeous, and the temperature is still quite pleasant. The tables directly around them are empty, allowing the camera crew the space they need to get somewhat decent shots, and the other guests that are dining keep sneaking glances their way as they sit down, probably trying to figure out if they should recognise Joe or Nicky from somewhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s incredibly disconcerting, and Nicky feels uneasy at all the attention that is so obviously directed at them. It was easy enough to forget they were on a reality TV show during the plane ride, which had not been filmed, and then the car ride, which had been filmed but with small cameras set up in the rental car itself. Making eye contact with the blushing cameraman really is at a different level of awkward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately Joe’s presence is distracting enough that Nicky finds himself relaxing at least a little; it’s hard to forget he’s not actually here completely voluntarily when Joe’s by his side, exclaiming his fascination over the weirder options on the menu.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever been to France before?” Nicky asks after they have ordered. He traces the condensation on the outside of his water glass with his fingertips, the droplets cool against his flushed skin. Joe is leaning back in his chair, neck craned somewhat to catch the beautiful dusk as it stretches over the valley behind him, tendrils of red and orange creeping onto the light blue sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hums and turns his attention back to Nicky, his brown eyes glistening in the light, and he really is breathtakingly beautiful. Nicky keeps his gaze carefully averted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really,” Joe says, grabbing his glass and taking a sip of his drink, smacking his lips together. “I drove through it once, or well, twice, when I was 18. I went on a road trip to Morocco with some friends, in this really beat up old Renault that could hardly get up the mountain roads in the Pyrenees. It’s a miracle the thing didn’t break.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you drive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And not take a plane, you mean? Well, because we were young and liked to make life difficult for ourselves, I guess? It really sounded a lot better beforehand. The car had no air conditioning, and sleeping in a little tent next to the motorway really wasn’t the best of plans either, but we had fun. I’ll never do it again, ever, but I only have good memories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were those friends at the wedding?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, no. We lost touch a long time ago, when we all went our different ways for uni. I still have them on Facebook, they all have wives and at least three kids by now. Which is great for them, of course. We’re just at completely different parts of our lives now.” Joe sighs, leaning back in his chair. He is sprawling again, just like he was in the car, and Nicky carefully forces himself not to think about that too hard. “I suppose I envy them a little, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe purses his lips in thought, and then releases an explosive sigh. He doesn’t need prompting to keep talking, so Nicky stays quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Growing up… well, it’s the dream, isn’t it? Finding a partner early in life, getting married, getting to spend all that time together. Maybe even the kids, who knows. I think it’s something I always wanted, secretly, but life isn’t like a romcom. You don’t just, I don’t know, look at your phone and bump into someone and have this badly-scripted conversation and then live happily ever after. That’s not how it works in real life, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t spent most of my twenties looking for that connection, that spark. Stupid, right?” he laughs, taking a sip from his drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a romantic,” Nicky points out, when it’s clear that Joe isn’t going to continue. It’s a little puzzling, how someone who wants to believe in fairytale endings and true love at first sight finds himself on a show like this, voluntarily or not. Although, perhaps it does make sense; Joe’s romantic nature might be exactly the reason why he is here, why he didn’t crawl back out of this when he still had the chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Joe had been hopeful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe grins at his observation, wide and carefree. “Incurably so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deciding to follow his train of thought, Nicky nonchalantly asks, “I suppose this could be a romcom meeting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe laughs, lifting his glass and clinking it against Nicky’s. “Yes it could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words hang in the air between them, nearly tangibly so, and Nicky doesn’t know what to do with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Our couples will go through the motions together and get used to each other’s routines. They will be the first thing they see when waking in the morning and the last when going to sleep at night. Now it’s just a matter of figuring out where they fit during the day.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, Joe is alone and definitely on the wrong side of the bed when he wakes. He’s got his arms full of pillow, and he groans unhappily as he slowly untangles himself from the sheets he’s cocooned into, rubbing his eyes as he stares at the side of the bed that should have been his. He considers shimmying across to claim it once more in the hopes that Nicky won’t notice his migration, but that’s when the bathroom door opens and Nicky steps out, his hair still wet and dripping onto the fabric of his t-shirt. He’s not wearing pants, just underwear, and the sight of those bare, muscular thighs make Joe forget how to swallow properly for a second and then he’s choking pathetically on his own spit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’s got his breathing somewhat under control, Nicky is looking at him with mild amusement visible on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, don’t worry. Not dying or anything,” Joe whines, his voice croaking horribly in the early morning. It’s a good thing that Nicky is already married to him, because Joe knows early-morning-him has the charming capabilities of a particularly furry turtle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky chuckles, and then he’s moving about, bending over to retrieve something from his suitcase and treating Joe to a wonderful view of that miraculously round ass, and Joe nearly hits himself in the face in his hurry to cover his eyes with his hand before his body can get other ideas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed dips as Nicky sits down on it, and when Joe peeks at him from underneath his fingers, Nicky is sitting there, typing away on his phone, long, bare legs on clear display. It’s the first time Joe has seen them in their naked glory, and it’s obvious that Nicky is doing humanity (or, well, Joe) a great disservice by keeping them covered up. The muscle definition in his thighs is exquisite, and Joe really, really wants to kiss his skin and feel the fuzz of the little, fair hairs against his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exhales loudly and tries to force his mind in a different direction than its current horny state, but it’s a challenge. It really is unfair how handsome Nicky is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Joe’s gaze flicks up to Nicky’s face, Nicky is looking at him, his teeth biting on his full bottom lip, and a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want coffee?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, yes,” Joe exclaims, weakly untangling himself from the last of the duvet. He rolls out of bed and goes into the bathroom while Nicky calls room service. He nearly falls back asleep while brushing his teeth but somehow manages to return to bed relatively unscathed, and by that time room service has already arrived. Nicky wisely stays quiet until Joe has finished his first cup of coffee, although his decision to start talking while Joe is fighting a losing battle against a particularly juicy strawberry is probably a little less convenient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is a speedo-only policy in the pool,” Nicky says as he takes a small, dignified (Joe really wished he could be dignified around Nicky, but it seems he’s left all his natural charm back in London) sip from his coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Joe half-mumbles, half-chokes around his strawberry, the juice running down his fingers and dripping onto his thigh, cold and sticky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I checked it this morning. It seems your friend was very wise to give you those speedos, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe tries his best to swallow his bite instead of spitting it out as he fights the urge to snort at the notion of Booker being called wise in any context. “That’s- It’s a gag gift. We’re really not supposed to do anything with those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky shrugs. “I didn’t pack speedos, did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Joe replies, unhappily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky looks perfectly at ease with the situation as he takes another sip of his coffee. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and Joe absent-mindedly wipes the spilled juice off his own thigh. “You should take the red one,” Nicky decides, his gaze focused intently on the red juice now on Joe’s index finger, and Joe has half a mind to offer it for him to lick off before he sticks it into his own mouth instead, because while they might be married and getting along really well, they are still strangers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is something he has to repeat to himself forcefully when Nicky walks next to him a while later in nothing but the hardest-working pair of speedos soon to appear on national television. When Nicky had emerged from the bathroom wearing them it had taken all of Joe’s willpower and then some to not just throw himself at Nicky’s feet and peel them off with his mouth, but, somehow, he had managed to suppress the overwhelming urge. Now, he is very glad for his sunglasses as they hide the frequent, sneaky glances he subconsciously sends Nicky’s way, and he has always been grateful for his darker complexion to hide his heating cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels like he’s at least somewhat successful at pretending to be keeping his cool, as Nicky has so far not commented on his awkwardness or emotional constipation. Joe takes it as a win. Beggars, after all, can’t be choosers. (Oh, and how he would beg. If Nicky is into that, of course.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The outdoor pool is nice, with a kidney-like shape and a little island in the middle that houses a couple of palm trees and a sad excuse for a water slide. It smells distinctly like chlorine, the water is impossibly blue due to the tiling, and it’s not busy. They claim two lounge chairs side by side and Joe rummages through the bag he’s brought to retrieve his sketchbooks and some pencils. He doesn’t really intend to go swimming yet; chlorine is horrible for his curls and he really would quite like to look his best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he goes to open up his sketchbook to the next empty page, he notices that Nicky is applying sunscreen, his foot propped up on his lounge chair and his body bent over at the waist so he can reach his shin, and Joe feels like he’s been punched in the stomach as he (once more) forgets to breathe. Nicky’s butt is much closer than he’d expected, and as the black fabric of the speedo strains against the roundness of Nicky’s butt cheeks, Joe tightens his grip on his sketchbook. He forces himself to look straight ahead as Nicky finishes applying the sunscreen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joe, would you maybe…?” Nicky trails off a little uncertainly, and he’s biting his lip and looking at Joe with his impossibly big green-grey eyes as he extends the bottle of sunscreen, and really, Joe is fucked. Absolutely fucked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clears his throat and hopes his voice doesn’t croak too much as he takes the bottle from him. “Your back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky crouches down next to Joe's chair, putting those gorgeous, broad shoulders at eye level with Joe, and for a moment he forgets he's supposed to be touching them until he remembers; he's supposed to be touching them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He uncaps the bottle of sunscreen and applies a generous amount to his left hand, putting the bottle to the side and rubbing his hands together to spread it evenly before he puts his hands to Nicky's pale skin. Applying the sunscreen proves to be more difficult than expected, as the stuff spreads but hardly gets absorbed into the skin, and as Joe vigorously rubs circles onto Nicky's shoulders and back, his eye catches the label of the bottle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you afraid of tanning?" he teases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky shrugs, those marvellous shoulders moving up and down under Joe's fingers. "I don't tan, I just burn."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Huh. Are you sure you're Italian?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky looks at him over his shoulder, eyebrow raised and the hint of a smile around his mouth. "Quite."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky stands again when Joe's arrived at his lower back, and Joe keeps his mind carefully blank as he squeezes some more sunscreen onto his hands and starts working on Nicky's lower back. He's got a mole next to his spine, there, and Joe has to resist the urge to press his lips to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's very glad his sketchbook is still in his lap as he skims his fingers along the waistband of the speedos and then along the bottom edge, creating direct finger-to-buttcheek contact that goes straight to his cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps his touches to Nicky's butt and the back of his thighs light and quick, not daring to test fate. His self-control is hanging by a thread as it is. Of course, his mind and body are definitely not on the same level, and once he's done, he automatically pats Nicky's right buttcheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"All done," he says, and that's when the realisation that he's just smacked Nicky's butt hits, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you," Nicky says, turning around with a smile. He doesn't seem fazed by Joe's overzealous show of affection; if anything, he looks genuinely grateful and perhaps a bit amused. "Are you going to swim as well?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, no. I think I will just- uh- draw. For a little while."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe doesn't dare move as Nicky walks away from him. He hardly breathes until Nicky sits down at the pool edge, back turned to Joe, waiting for the sunscreen to absorb into his skin. And even then he doesn’t dare relax until Nicky dives into the water after a few minutes, his form perfect as he disappears under the surface with only the slightest splash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groans. He really is fucked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spends the rest of the morning trying to rub the oily sunscreen off his fingers and onto his towel so he can actually attempt to draw, and he decidedly does not watch Nicky as he crosses the pool many times without even so much as surfacing for air. He does not think about how useful such a large lung capacity can be in other circumstances. He also does not watch Nicky's muscular shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The only way to get to know someone is to communicate your wants, your needs, and listen and learn, but if they’re not doing that, trust cannot build.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe brings out his boxed tea that afternoon, when they have returned to the hotel room after a morning spent swimming (or, well, Nicky swam; Joe never even dipped a single toe into the water) and being lazy in the sun. Joe puts the electric kettle on to boil and retrieves the mugs they got from his sister, silently asking if Nicky wants tea too with a slight raise of his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No thanks.” Nicky turns one of the big armchairs next to the electric fireplace so it faces the bed and kitchenette and sits down on it. Joe is leaning against the countertop, waiting for the water to boil, turning the still-wrapped box of mint tea he’d gotten from his other sister between his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re missing out,” Joe promises, producing a handful of honey packets he had stolen from the lunch buffet earlier, using Nicky as a human shield while he tried to play it cool. (“I’ve never stolen anything, apparently I have a horrible poker face,” Joe had confided, and Nicky had had to agree; Joe looked terribly guilty even before he’d stuffed fifteen honey packets into the pockets of his shorts.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky looks on as Joe struggles with the plastic wrapping on the box. When he’s retrieved one of the bags, Joe looks at the label. He doesn’t speak up for a while as he stares at the little label, the question on there either hard to translate (unlikely) or something Joe would deem inappropriate for the time they have spent together so far. It’s the first time he has brought out the conversation starter tea bags, and Nicky doesn’t know how personal the questions are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is your favourite colour?” Joe asks eventually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky knows that that’s definitely not the question that’s on the label, and perhaps he should be grateful for the out Joe is giving them and respect Joe’s decision to not go for the initial question. But they are married, and if they keep skirting around the important stuff then they will never get to know each other properly, will they? (Nicky tries not to think too hard about why that would matter to him; why he would care if they parted as friends or still as strangers five and a half weeks from now.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the actual question?” he prompts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe laughs. “Do you think I’m lying to you? About this?” Joe holds the tea label into the air as if to challenge Nicky on the ridiculousness of his accusation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Nicky deadpans, and Joe laughs again, putting his mug on the bedside table and stretching out across the duvet, his t-shirt riding up to show off that tan skin and the faint lines of his abs, and Nicky averts his gaze quickly, before that can become, well, dangerous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just-” Joe sighs. “The actual question? It’s very personal, I just don’t know if we’ve, like, unlocked that level of depth in our relationship yet? We did only meet three days ago. That’s not a very long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try me,” Nicky says, and Joe hums, sits up again to look at the label of the tea bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your favourite childhood memory?” he asks. “But I also want to know your favourite colour, don’t think you’re getting out of that one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Green,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe pushes himself up onto his elbows and nods, seeming to think it an acceptable answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Red? Yellow? I’m not sure, I think it depends on the day and the shade. Sometimes I see a particular hue and I’m like, that’s nice. You know? And the other day I might not like it as much. But I like yellow, I think.” He stares right into Nicky’s eyes as he continues, “Although I suppose I like green too. A lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky swallows. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe winks at him, and Nicky chuckles, because how can he not, and Joe beams at him. “So, favourite childhood memory or nah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Nicky replies, rubbing his fingers over the smooth leather of the armrests of the armchair, a smile already curling around his mouth as he starts the tale of Francesco, the donkey his nonna’s neighbour used to own, and the shenanigans he got up to. How much Nicky loved it, when he was 8-years-old and Francesco would steal the neighbour’s hat, his cucumbers, his laundry; how his nonna used to sneak Francesco sugar cubes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe has collapsed back onto the bed, laughing almost hysterically, by the timeNicky is done telling the tale, his tea forgotten on the bedside table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[A close-up shot of Joe talking to the camera. He’s wearing a bright pink muscle top, a matching backward cap, and sunglasses. The background is blurry and the lighting is soft and natural; if one gets really close to the television, one would be able to count the little freckles across the bridge of his nose. He smiles, wide and bright and slightly crooked, when the director asks: </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Why do you think you and Nicky got matched?”</span>
  </em>
  <span>]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea! He gets up at 5am voluntarily! There’s no way he can actually be my perfect partner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Is that such a dealbreaker for you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. It’s like, 6am is fine, but 5? I’ve got to draw the line somewhere, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[A close-up shot of Nicky talking to the camera. He is wearing a green t-shirt that looks really good on him, his hair is wind-swept and there is even a slight smile playing around his lips as the director asks: </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Why do you think you and Joe got matched?”</span>
  </em>
  <span>]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we are having a good time so far, that is very important. It seems like we have some things in common, but I also feel like it depends on us whether this match is successful at all. I feel like we are both in this with, hm, similar mindsets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What do you mean by that?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>[Nicky’s eyes focus on something (or someone?) to the right of the camera, and his smile widens infinitesimally.]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that is between me and Joe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Every night, we have designed an exercise called pillow talks to help the couples connect more. So it’s a variety of questions and activities that they can do in bed, before they go to sleep or when they wake up, to really establish that connection. We have developed pillow talks because we wanted our couples to have that sense of intimacy from the start.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe pulls on a t-shirt before he climbs into bed that evening, trying to ignore the imminent awkwardness of getting into bed while a camera crew has been squished into their hotel room. Nicky is already in bed, pretending to read his book. Joe can tell; his shoulders are tense, his eyes hardly moving to trace the words, and Joe has seen Nicky read enough by now already to know that he’s a much quicker reader than this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he also knows Nicky enough by now to know that on-camera Nicky and off-camera Nicky are different versions of the same people. On-camera Nicky is all stiff smiles and carefully controlled movements, while off-camera Nicky is one of the funniest people Joe has ever met. He is much more relaxed and comfortable when the cameras aren’t around, and it’s not that he’s unconfident when the cameras are there, it’s more that he is self-conscious in a way he shouldn’t be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little moments they share together where Nicky laughs until he snorts, or when he tells a funny tale and his eyes are twinkling with mischief, those are Joe’s favourite moments. To see the tension in Nicky’s shoulders just doesn’t feel right, and he almost wants to turn to the camera crew and tell them to get lost, just for tonight, to let him have his honest conversations with his husband that are prompted by the stupid questions printed on the labels of his mint tea bags, and to fuck off with their pillow talk exercises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But alas, they are part of a TV show, and there is very little understanding for Nicky’s camera shyness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, the best thing Joe can do is be as distracting as possible to put Nicky at ease, and fortunately, that is something he is quite good at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slides underneath the duvet and settles on his side, his head propped up by his hand and a big smile on his face as he looks at Nicky, whose gaze immediately flickers from the book he’s holding to Joe. The corners of his mouth curl up almost automatically, and that slight twitch of those lips makes a warmth blossom in Joe’s chest (because he’s the one who put that smile there, he is) that might or might not be slightly out of proportion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, handsome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky laughs then, placing his bookmark between the pages of his novel and putting it on his bedside table. He grabs his phone from it and turns to face Joe, and then they’re lying side by side and facing each other, a small distance between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ready?” Nicky asks, opening the document on his phone, pulling a face as he scans today’s questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you like the most about today?” Nicky asks, because that’s always the first question in these exercises, and Joe’s answer is always the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spending time with you,” he says sweetly, resisting the urge to look directly into the camera that’s hovering behind Nicky’s shoulder and giving the audience a saucy wink - but only because he knows it’ll not make the final cut, anyway. “What about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exploring the hotel was fun,” Nicky says, not taking his eyes off the phone screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicky,” Joe says pointedly, lifting his other hand to his chest and clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt. “You wound me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I suppose spending time with you was quite alright as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite alright, he says. A true romantic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite,” Nicky agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am so turned on now, with these sweet words you’re murmuring. Please do say more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you are in luck, because some of the questions are-” Nicky pauses, hums, finally looks at Joe, crooked smile in place. “A little steamy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little steamy,” Joe repeats in disbelief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Nicky offers him the phone, but Joe shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said, please tell me more. It’s your turn to ask the questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky snorts, looks back at his phone and shifts a little, getting more comfortable. He’s staring into Joe’s eyes when he asks, “What is more important, romance or sex?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is- How- Wait. You first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? I asked the question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You first,” Joe insists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky rolls his eyes, but does answer. “Alright. Romance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elaborate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t say we have to elaborate, it is a yes or no question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicky, stop being so difficult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In relationships,” Nicky starts, pointedly, “I think romance is most important. While sex is nice, one doesn’t need to be in a relationship to have it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But sex can be so romantic,” Joe argues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t do one night stands, do you?” Nicky asks, sounding amused and not at all accusatory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Joe admits. “I like my sex sensual and romantic, sue me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, romance or sex?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Romantic sex and sexy romance,” Joe decides, and then he makes a movement, telling Nicky to move on. “Next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In your opinion, how long does the perfect round of sex last?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sixteen minutes and thirty-two seconds,” Joe responds without missing a beat. “What kind of question is that?” He sends a disbelieving look toward Nile, who is hiding her grin behind her hand and desperately trying not to laugh at them, it looks like. Joe does wink at her, and she gives him a thumbs up back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next?” Nicky offers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you have to answer first, longer or shorter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It depends,” Nicky says easily, and there’s a glint in his eyes and a smirk around his lips as he drops his voice a little and continues, “Should I, ah, elaborate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe suddenly has a hard time remembering how to breathe, and the sound that comes from his throat is halfway between a wheeze and a cough. “No, it’s- yes- next question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky turns back to the list of questions, a hint of the smirk lingering around his lips as he asks, “What is the sexiest part of someone’s body?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many of these questions are there?” Joe complains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Joe mutters. “I guess I like asses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guess you like asses?” Nicky looks very amused, eyebrows raised and his eyes knowing, because, well, Nicky is perceptive and Joe knows he hasn’t exactly been the most subtle in his ogling, and okay, well, maybe admitting that he really likes asses wouldn’t have been that bad, but now he’s not going to give Nicky the satisfaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Joe shrugs. “I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky’s grin just widens as he shakes his head. “You guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right. What about you?” he tries to go for smooth and uninterested, but he knows he’s failing spectacularly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky definitely doesn’t go for uninterested, though, as his gaze drags over Joe’s body, hidden underneath the duvet, treating Joe to a shrug of his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not picky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe laughs, because the alternative is leaning in to kiss Nicky senseless, and really, laughing seems like the better, more sensible option of the two. Nicky looks pleased as he turns back to the questions, scrolling through them a little before turning his attention to Nile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it okay if we answer some of the other ones?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure. I think we have enough content, anyway. Should be cool,” Nile replies. Nicky nods, and Joe just feels grateful, because he’s really not sure how many of those steamy questions he can handle. He rolls onto his back as the crew packs up, and a few minutes later they have said their good nights and are out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few moments later, Nicky clears his throat and unleashes the next question, “What makes you happiest in a relationship?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe groans. “Can I opt out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is a line about there being a penalty for not answering questions,” Nicky says seriously, and Joe has seen the lists often enough to know that that’s not the case, but he still perks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm, yes, it would appear so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what is the penalty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, kisses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe laughs and hooks his fingers in the collar of Nicky’s t-shirt, pulling him close to kiss him. His lips are soft and willing under Joe’s, and the kisses they share are sweet and lovely, and really, Joe would take this over stupid pillow talk exercises any day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe would take this over almost anything, any day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>These couples just met and got married and they’re on their honeymoon as husbands and wives. There are huge challenges involved in being around a stranger so intensely as on your honeymoon. But it’s also a time with extraordinary potential for a couple to find joy and a connection and excitement.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Nicky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky looks up from the coffee dispenser he has been trying to figure out (he is a medical professional, he has several degrees, he runs his A&amp;E department with admirable management skills, this coffee dispenser will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> beat him), to see Nile’s smiling face. He can’t help but smile back, even when she reaches over and moves the lever upward while twisting it, which was a combination Nicky definitely had tried before but hadn’t worked on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowns at the coffee that is now pouring steadily into the cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It clearly likes you more than it likes me,” he says unhappily, swallowing the Italian curse that’s on the tip of his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have tamed it,” Nile agrees, stopping the flow of coffee when the cup is full. “I’m sure you will too, you just have to practice the hand movement a bit, like so-” She’s halfway through demonstrating the grip in the air when she realises what it must look like, and then they are both laughing, Nile covering her mouth as she giggles. “I’m sorry, I’m basically harassing you here, I should let you get back to your coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind,” Nicky assures her as he goes to heap sugar into the coffee, Nile taking up his vacated space to get some coffee for herself. She raises her eyebrows at the sheer amount of sugar he’s putting in, and Nicky shrugs. “It’s for Joe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile looks around, stopping the coffee flow only just in time to keep her cup from overflowing. “Where is he, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sleeping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not much of a morning person?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could say that,” Nicky says, shaking his head, thinking to himself that calling Joe not much of a morning person is a bit of an understatement. “I hope coffee will ease him into wakefulness, but it is an experiment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you two having a good time?” Nile asks casually, taking a bit of creamer and some sugar in her coffee herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so,” Nicky says, “but I should probably…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, go feed your man. I’ll see you two in a bit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Nicky says, nodding at her and then sending a last glare to the coffee dispenser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he gets back to the hotel room, Joe has burrowed completely under the covers, just a few curls poking out from underneath the duvet. When Nicky goes to put the coffee down on the bedside table, though, Joe is already stirring, and then he emerges from his blanket cocoon, eyes blinking blearily and nostrils flaring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that coffee?” he asks, voice hoarse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that coffee for me?” Joe repeats hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Joe sighs, and then his arm makes an appearance, swiping the coffee off the bedside table. It’s quiet for a few moments while Joe takes a sip, and then he’s smacking his lips together and sighing happily. “I am the happiest man in the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky resolves to not tell Joe about the struggle he went through in order to get it, how much of an ass he must have looked like before Nile came to his rescue, and decides that his hurt pride in the wake of his failed coffee dispenser moment is worth it to see the happy smile on Joe’s face. He knows his own smile is a little too pleased upon hearing Joe’s praise, and he quickly hides it by ducking down to open up his suitcase and rummage through his luggage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just coffee,” he reminds Joe as he carefully pulls out his camera case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> coffee, he says,” Joe protests through a yawn, shaking his head as if Nicky has just said the most ridiculous thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it is mostly sugar, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe grins, takes another sip and smacks his lips happily. “It is,” he agrees. “What do you have there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A camera.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a photographer?” Joe perks up at that, or perhaps it’s the caffeine and sugar kicking in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I take pictures.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Potato, potato,” Joe says, waving his hand to dismiss Nicky’s correction. “Just because you do it for fun doesn’t mean you’re not a photographer. You take photographs, you are a photographer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think many photographers would be offended by that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, fuck them if they think my husband isn’t good enough to join their elite ranks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky laughs, startled by Joe’s bold words. “You don’t even know if I’m any good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need to. You’re my husband, I like everything you do and I hate everyone who doesn’t like what you do. Simple as that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You would be one hell of an enemy to have, Joe al-Kaysani</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Nicky thinks as he takes Joe’s patting of the space next to him for the invitation it is and sits down close to him. Joe rests his head on Nicky’s shoulder as Nicky gets his camera out of the case and opens up the camera roll. He tries hard not to think about last night and the sweet kisses they’d shared, the eagerness with which Joe had responded to Nicky’s hopeful teasing, how well they fit together. He tries not to think about last night and how he’d woken up around 1:30 with Joe’s arm slung around his waist; how that arm had still been there when he’d carefully slipped out of bed at 6, Joe lying close enough behind him for their bodies to nearly touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decidedly doesn’t think about any of that as he shows Joe the pictures he took most recently, Joe enthusing about them entirely too much as he does so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t think about anything, as a matter of fact. Especially not how soft and charming and kissable Joe looks on this particular morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, Nicky’s mind is as empty as a cloudless sky. (Oh, hell, who is he even kidding?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What I hope the honeymoon brings our couples, is more curiosity and interest and fascination with each other. I want them to see that they can have fun together. It’s the beginning of being a unit that calls each other husbands or wives.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe is very excited about the picnic on their itinerary until he realises that they will be cycling through the mountains. Joe is good at cycling, having lived in the Netherlands for most of his life, and he enjoys it somewhat when doing it leisurely. He thinks he’s even got a pretty good shot at impressing Nicky with his amazing stamina (shut up) until he realises that the Alps are decidedly more challenging than a Dutch landscape, and that if he wants to impress Nicky he will actually have to work for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does volunteer to take the bicycle with the picnic basket, though, and Nicky smiles sweetly at him as he does so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The camera crew will be following them for a bit and then meet them at the designated picnic spot, which is promised to grant them a fantastic view over the valley, and they encourage Joe and Nicky to use their camcorders in case something interesting happens while the camera crew isn’t present. So far, neither of them has even considered using them; they are already enough on camera as it is, and the tender moments they share are just that, tender. Definitely not meant for national television.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, they nod and smile and promise that they will definitely not forget the camcorders, and then they are off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky is, as can probably be expected considering his </span>
  <em>
    <span>thighs </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>calves </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>butt, </span>
  </em>
  <span>a great cyclist, and he keeps up with Joe effortlessly. Fortunately, the path chosen for them remains largely level, which is actually a bit of an accomplishment, and Joe is allowed to hold onto some of his dignity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s fun, too, like everything with Nicky is. Nicky points out some bunnies he sees hopping around in a field, and he gets off the bike twice to take pictures of their surroundings. When Joe sends him his most charming smile, he laughs and even snaps a couple of Joe, sitting astride his bike with his sunglasses on and his backward baseball cap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I probably look like an ass,” Joe laughs when Nicky thumbs through his camera roll to check the pictures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look very handsome,” Nicky assures him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Joe coughs, and then Nicky gets back onto his bicycle again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing much of interest happens until they get to the picnic spot, where the camera crew is indeed waiting. They film them while Joe meticulously spreads out the picnic blanket, and look on with bated breath as Joe and Nicky both settle down on it. It’s probably one of the more awkward moments Joe has ever experienced in his life, the easy air that had settled between Nicky and him on their journey here dissolving in the presence of the camera crew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky clearly feels the same, a certain tenseness settling around his mouth that Joe has come to recognise as Nicky being nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I see the pictures?” Joe asks, gesturing at the camera hanging around Nicky’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Nicky says, smiling just slightly as he hands Joe his camera. While Joe goes through the photos Nicky took – really rather good shots, too; it’s clear Nicky has a good eye for composition, and lighting, and colour, and, well, that close-up of Joe’s face </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> actually really flattering – Nicky sets up the picnic, pulling out a smaller wicker basket with croissants and brioches, and plates and cutlery and glasses, even a bottle of wine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The basket has been packed to nearly overflowing, and by the time Nicky has pulled everything out and presented it, Joe has gone through the pictures on the camera.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These are really good, Nicky,” he says, and he can see the director perk up, a hungry gleam in her eyes at the words, and he feels almost foolish for bringing this up while the camera crew is around. He doesn’t think Nicky would be comfortable sharing his pictures to be used for the production of the show, but he also knows that Nicky is perfectly capable of defending himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Nicky says, taking the camera from Joe with a shy smile, his head ducked, and Joe reaches over to trace the shape of his upturned lips with the pad of his thumb automatically, his brain only catching up with what he’s doing when his finger has already been pressed to Nicky’s mouth for a few seconds, and then he decides that he’s allowed to touch his husband like this in public if he wants to, and Nicky clearly seems to agree with that. He presses his face into Joe’s touch just a little more, his smile turning a little wider, and Joe smiles back at him as he swipes his thumb from left to right to come to a rest at the corner of Nicky’s mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a lovely smile,” Joe says, and Nicky makes a small noise in his throat. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him. The memory of the sweet kisses they shared last night is still so fresh in Joe’s mind, but he also knows that it wouldn’t be the same. It would be uncomfortable, performative. So Joe drops his hand from Nicky’s face. “So, you want a croissant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky’s smile is still bashful, but pleased. Relaxed. Much more so than earlier. “Yes, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe puts the croissant on a plate and presents it to Nicky with a flourish. “Here you go, love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky’s smile turns crooked at that, and he leans in, bumping his shoulder softly against Joe’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The footage is filmed on a camcorder. In the bottom right corner it shows the date and time. The image is blurry as it zooms in, but in the distance is Joe, a bright spot against the green of the luscious mountainside. It appears that he is righting a sheep, struggling a little as he lifts it until it’s sitting and then lets it move forward until it’s standing. He whoops loudly, pumping his fist into the air.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That is Joe,” Nicky’s voice says from behind the camera. His hand comes in view, pointing at Joe in the distance. “He suddenly jumped off his bicycle, look.” The camera moves to show Joe’s abandoned bicycle, lying on the dirt road, one wheel still spinning sadly. “And over this fence.” A tall, wooden fence comes into view. “Without telling me.” Nicky chuckles deeply. “To, well. I suppose it is better if he tells you himself. Here he is.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And surely, when the camera focuses back on the field ahead, Joe is running back to Nicky.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It worked!” Joe cheers as he comes closer. A gust of wind snatches his snapback off his head and he detours, turning around to go and fetch it. The footage shows a beautiful view of Joe’s ass as he bends forward to retrieve the hat. Nicky coughs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Joe’s grin is even wider when he comes running up to the fence next. He’s not climbing it yet, instead he leans his arms over the top and smiles at Nicky.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So what did you abandon me to do, Joe?” Nicky prompts, and Joe laughs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I saved a sheep!” Joe says excitedly. “She was lying on her back. Now, kids,” Joe says, pulling his sunglasses down a little so he can peer over the rim, giving the camera a serious look. “When you see a sheep lying on its back, it can’t right itself again, yes? Which means it would die if you don’t go and save it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And how do you save a sheep?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Joe winks and slides his sunglasses back on. “I am so glad you asked, Nicky. Let’s pretend this air is a sheep.” Joe steps back from the fence to gesture at the grass in front of him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Right, air sheep.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Like an invisible cloud,” Joe enthuses. “Now, kids, still paying attention? Yes? Sheep are pretty heavy, so make sure to adopt a good lifting posture! Now, this pocket of air here is the head of the sheep, and this is where its front legs would be, approximately… You have to lift the sheep over its butt, like this, and then you can do this, and push it forward and it should be on its feet again. The sheep should walk away immediately... ”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anyone watching this footage might come to the conclusion that perhaps Nicky moved a little to catch Joe’s formidable lifting posture from the back. Perhaps that person might notice the perfect roundness of Joe’s ass, or the strong muscles of his shoulders as he lifts the invisible-cloud-air-sheep onto its invisible butt, or the winning smile he sends Nicky over his shoulder once the maneuver has been completed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And perhaps? Perhaps that person might melt as much as Nicky does, in that moment.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s easy to forget that it’s not just him and Joe and their boisterous camera entourage. That, as a matter of fact, they are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> living in their own little bubble. That there are other people at this hotel that might have opinions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truly, it is an oversight on Nicky’s part to seemingly forget the rest of the world also exists, outside of this completely bizarre and unnatural experience, and he supposes that, if he’d had the foresight to spare a thought or two about the situation he is in, he could have at least considered that something like this would definitely, inevitably, eventually happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it is, he is staring at the short, elderly woman who had just fondly said, “You two look so happy together”, like it was said in a language he understood considerably less than French, and she is starting to look worried as he remains expressionless, bottle of water halfway lifted to his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you not speak French?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I do,” Nicky is quick to assure her, suddenly remembering social skills and, well, manners.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, are you two not…? I was quite certain…” The woman looks pensive now, her gaze flickering uncertainly between Joe, who is still lying on the lounge chair he had claimed at the pool side after they had returned from the bike ride, and Nicky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we are,” Nicky clears his throat, “married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When was the wedding?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Four days ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, you still have that happy glow about you, I should have known! Back when I got married to my Jean… Oh, you do not want to know this. Look at me, boring you with my old women's tales. How I used to hate it when my grandmother did that to me, so many years ago!” She sighs dramatically, shaking her head. “I do not mean to pry, but who proposed to whom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky opens his mouth, draws a blank, and goes for a sip from his water bottle instead, hoping he does not look as panicked as he feels (once again, ridiculous; he deals with high stress situations for a living, why are his skills leaving him when he so desperately needs them?). He looks at Joe, with his ridiculous snapback and his sunglasses and his shirtlessness as he happily draws away in his sketchbook, and all of a sudden it’s really not that difficult anymore to imagine how it could have gone, if life had been a little different, if they had met under other circumstances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am sure it was very romantic,” the woman nudges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was.” Nicky grins. “He cried, but he did say yes. We got married very quickly after that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t want to wait?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that. Now, if you will excuse me? He might be thirsty.” Nicky holds up the second bottle of water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, do not let my silliness keep you from your man.” She reaches out and pats his arm, sending him a smile that reminds him of how his nonna used to look at him (his chest aches dully at the comparison).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe looks up in question when Nicky returns to his side, placing the cool bottle of water on the little table next to the lounge chair. He sits down on the floor next to him. The tiles are pleasantly warm due to the sun, and he sighs as he stretches out on them. Joe had remarked upon it earlier, calling him a cat, and then, after a few minutes, presenting him with a sketch of a big-nosed cat rolling about on the sun-warmed tiles, and it had taken all of Nicky’s self-restraint and then some to not lift Joe and throw him into the water before kissing him. As it was, he had settled for a tight-lipped smile and a little snort, which had made Joe smile widely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Made a new friend?” Joe asks curiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She asked me how long we’ve been married for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And?” When Nicky isn’t giving up any more information, Joe pokes him between the ribs with his pencil. Nicky swats at it lazily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She wanted to know who proposed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s obvious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky raises one eyebrow, cracking open one eye to look at Joe. Joe is leaning over the edge of the chair, pencil still raised in mid-air, a big grin on his face. The sun lights him from behind. His little fly-away curls fire up bronze. He looks stunning. “Is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously I proposed to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky snorts. “I don’t think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, yes I think so. We already established I’m the romantic here, didn’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We established you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> a romantic, we did not compare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Clearly </span>
  </em>
  <span>I am the more romantic of us, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Obviously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please do enlighten me how your superior romantic skills helped you in this proposal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s something I planned for a long time but then, on a whim, I decided, no, and went about it completely differently, and because you like being surprised-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>like being surprised I decided to keep it small and simple because you would not appreciate great tokens of affection and entire billboards dedicated to my love for you, so I cancelled upon the football-field sized rose petal proposal I was planning out and decided to surprise you during your break at work-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t really have scheduled breaks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Decided to surprise you after work-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t usua-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe sends him an incredulous look. “Work with me here, sweetheart. You’re being impossibly difficult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Nicky concedes, trying not to smile too broadly in the aftermath of the endearment Joe used, albeit somewhat sarcastically, “you surprised me after work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and you had a late shift so it’s dark out, and despite it being London it’s actually a clear night, and we think that if we squint just right we can maybe see a star? Might also be a plane, though, but we try not to look too closely at it. I took you for a walk to this park near your hospital, and as we walked past the pond and looked at the sleeping ducks you suddenly noticed that it was a bit brighter than maybe it should be, and when we went around a few bushes you suddenly saw it, the display I made.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe sighs wistfully. “With coloured lights and only a handful of rose petals, spelled out, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Nicky, will you marry me?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and you would blush and cry and tell me that of course you would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I remember it quite like that,” Nicky says, but he’s smiling, the broadness of his grin making his cheeks hurt, and Joe’s answering grin is just as bright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s a shame, because this is exactly how it happened. Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose it’s really not a surprise I said yes, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re very in love with me. You like my charm. My chest, my ass. My hair, my voice, how talented I am-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your humility.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More than anything, that, because it truly is my best quality.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They have moved closer in their teasing, Nicky leaning up on his elbows and Joe half hanging over the side of the lounge chair, and it really hardly takes any effort at all for Nicky to push himself up those last few centimeters and close the gap between them, covering Joe’s grin with his own smiling lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s just a peck on the lips, short and sweet, but they are both grinning stupidly when they pull back from it, cheeks warmed by something other than the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“My hopes for the couples are that they continue to grow together in their marriage and that they are patient with each other. It will be successful.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I brought you something,” Joe says as he steps out onto the balcony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did?” Nicky hums in question, looking up from his book to look at Joe. He’s bundled up in a hoodie that’s a bit too big on him, hood up, and he looks cosy. He lifts up the corner of the blanket over his lap for Joe to slide next to him onto the bench, and Joe pulls the glasses and bottle from behind his back as he sits down. Nicky’s face lights up as he accepts the bottle and studies the label. “Italian?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where did you get this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I stole it,” Joe says. Nicky sends him a look that’s definitely a little exasperated as well as a little fond, and Joe grins as he bumps their shoulders together. “Room service does exist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe hands Nicky the glasses and tucks himself under the blanket while Nicky takes out the stopper and pours the wine into the glasses. Joe settles just a little bit closer to Nicky as he accepts his glass, and Nicky hums as he leans against him. It’s chilly out, but the night is clear and the view from the balcony is beautiful. It’s quiet, too, in a way Joe isn’t used to; he’s lived in London for so long, sometimes it’s hard to remember that places like this exist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s stupid, how at ease he feels. How peaceful it is. How much he doesn’t want this to end. Not this moment, not this honeymoon. Not him and Nicky. It’s the most ridiculous feeling, considering they have known each other for just a few days under the strangest circumstances, but imagining his life without Nicky? That’s not something he wishes to do, anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe stares into the depths of his wine glass like it might tell him the secrets of the universe, and he must be quiet for a while because eventually, Nicky bumps his shoulder against Joe’s again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just thinking about how strange this all is.” It’s not really the truth, but Joe isn’t sure how well </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m just thinking about how I’m falling in love with you</span>
  </em>
  <span> would go over, in this moment. Sure, they have been opening up to one another, but mostly it’s just teasing. They aren’t being serious about this entire thing, and Joe isn’t going to be the one to sour the mood by dragging feelings into this. It’s still too young, too fresh. They have five and a half more weeks to figure their shit out; it’s okay to let everything be for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is a little strange.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite strange,” Joe adds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky smiles his small, crooked half-smile. “Quite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe takes a sip of his wine. “It’s just, I’m not so naive to think that we fit together because they matched us, whatever that might be. Sophie told me a little about the show beforehand, and really, their success rate is rather abysmal, and the reasons why they match people are usually questionable at best, like, uh, traumatic childhood experiences and the like. And while we get along, I don’t think they matched us on something like that. We don’t have that much in common, on paper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t,” Nicky agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet it works. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We </span>
  </em>
  <span>work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is a little scary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, it is.” Joe takes another sip, sloshes it around in his mouth. It’s good wine, nice and rich and fruity. His mouth feels dry when he’s swallowed it, though. “I don’t think there’s anyone I would rather do this with.” It’s as close to a confession he’s going to get, but the words don’t seem that scary when trusted to the quiet of the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel the same,” Nicky says, and Joe knows he’s grinning like an idiot as he buries his nose against Nicky’s broad shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft against his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>–</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It will be up to the couples to decide whether this individual we chose for them is their </span>
  </em>
  <span>person</span>
  <em>
    <span>, and we will try our very best to help them as they go on this exciting journey.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
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